Broken
by spns
Summary: Sam and Dean run into trouble in a small town and it continues to follow them wherever they go. Will they be able to make it out alive?  hurt!Sam
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note - Please forgive me for this. I'm going through this hurt!Sam kick (I blame it on the cold rainy weather) and if I'm going to do a hurt/comfort fic, I might as well go all out. Anyway, I'm expecting this to get dark, and I'm going to warn you right now, I haven't decided yet if this is going to be a death fic. Either way, it's not going to be pleasant for poor Sammy. Takes place in early Season 2.  
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**Disclaimer - I own nothing but the mistakes.**

Dean glanced at his brother sleeping uncomfortably in the passenger seat next to him. His long limbs were positioned in a way that looked unnatural, one arm pulled up and draped behind the younger man's neck in a futile attempt give his head some extra support, and the other thrown across his chest. His head leaned away from Dean at an almost violent angle, and Dean was sure that the stretched muscles there would be tight and sore in the morning. Dean was thankful for any rest that his brother was able to get, no matter how intermittent and uncomfortable it might be. The past number of weeks had not been easy for either of them, and Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly as the gruesome memories from recent days once again found their familiar place at the front of Dean's thoughts.

Dean focused his eyes back to the road. It was dark. The heavy drops of rain pounding on the car created thick blankets of water on the windshield, despite the wipers' best efforts to clear the glass, and the lack of visual made it even more difficult to maneuver the unfamiliar pavement. Dean knew that he should pull over, get Sam into an actual bed and maybe catch some Z's himself, but he continued on. He was too angry to rest. Angry that they didn't have work – that they hadn't had _any_ work for almost two weeks now. Nothing to take his mind off the horrible empty feeling that sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. Something was very wrong, and the fact that Dean didn't know what it was just increased his rage.

More than the lack of hunt, Dean was angry with his father, which in turn just made him angry with himself. His father was dead, and _somehow_ Dean was alive. Dean knew in the back of his mind that his father was behind his miraculous recovery, and the thought ate away at him. Besides that, Dean's apparent inability to express his feelings had been a constant strain on his and Sam's relationship ever since their father had died. Sam had always been comfortable with 'chick flick moments' as Dean called them, and in the nature of Sam, had tried on many occasion to initiate one of these moments. "I just want to help, Dean," Sam would say, or "You can trust me, Dean," or "Why won't you talk to me, Dean," or "I'm going through the same thing, Dean." Each time, Dean would yell or argue or punch something or just ignore his younger brother completely, because Sam _wasn't _going through the same thing – not entirely. Because Dad hadn't given up his life to save _Sam._ And _Sam _didn't now bear the same weight that sat in Dean's stomach and squeezed his heart, tugged at his soul. Sam had no idea about the thing that angered Dean the most – their father's last words. "Look out for Sammy." The words echoed in Dean's head. "You have to save Sam, Dean. And if you can't, you have to kill him."

Dean's jaw clenched as he considered what his father could have possibly meant. _Have to kill Sam? Why? Why did everyone always have to talk in some sort of code? Why couldn't they just tell the whole truth – make things just a little bit easier? Was that _really _so_ _much to ask? _He looked at Sam again. He would never be able to hurt his little brother, Dean knew that. Sam meant more to him than anything, and now that Dad was dead, Sam was literally all that Dean had left – the only thing in the world that kept Dean going, though Dean wasn't exactly doing the greatest job lately of showing that to Sam. Still, though he might not be willing to talk feelings with his little brother, the fact remained that he would never _ever _hurt him. Hell, Dean couldn't even bring himself to _tell _Sam about what their father had said. He knew Sam was already worried that the demon who had killed their mother was somehow going to turn him into a monster. Their father's last words wouldn't help.

Sam mumbled something in his sleep and turned restlessly. The small act broke through Dean's walls and the first part of his father's words sounded again in his head. The only part that mattered – the only part that had ever mattered. The words that had been Dean's motto ever since he had held his baby brother tight and carried him out of their burning house on the night their mother had died. _Look out for Sammy. _Dean sighed and took the first exit he came to. Through the rain Dean could see the soft glow of a sleepy town and he pulled into the parking lot of the first motel he found.

"C'mon, Sammy." Dean said, tapping Sam's chest with the back of his hand. "Let's get some sleep."

"I _was _sleeping." Sam complained groggily, but opened the car door and followed Dean quickly through the rain and into the lobby.

Dean shook the water from his hair as he approached the desk to check in. The young boy behind the counter seemed unimpressed and even somewhat annoyed by their presence, but Dean smiled anyway as he reached the counter and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, shaking it in a pointless effort to air it out. "It's really coming down out there." He said, trying to keep the mood light and friendly.

The boy – Nick from his name tag, looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. He lowered his eyes and frowned at Dean, then glanced over his shoulder. Dean followed his gaze and found Sam, still standing just inside the door, dripping hair falling over his eyes and a scowl on his face. Dean gave Sam a _'what the hell' _look, but Sam just folded his arms in response and remained positioned at the door.

"Don't mind my brother." Dean said apologetically to Nick. "He's just grumpy because he hasn't gotten his beauty rest. Aint that right, Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond. Nick looked surprised for a moment but quickly composed himself and asked monotonously, "King or two queens?"

"Two queens." The kid had clearly missed the part about them being brothers.

Dean pulled one of his many fake credit cards from his wallet, handed it to the kid and watched as the young clerk looked it over suspiciously. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head softly before swiping the card and handing it back to Dean along with a room key.

"Room 8." Nick said, pointing out the door.

"Thanks." Dean grabbed the cards from the kid and pushed past Sam on his way back into the rain.

Dean flipped on the light as they entered the room. It was a small space with stained beige carpet, two beds with torn too-thin blankets, ugly pastel paintings of wildflowers on the walls and a smell that Dean couldn't quite place. Another dump. Home sweet home. Sam shrugged off his wet jacket and kicked off his boots before collapsing face down on the bed furthest from the door.

"Uuhng." He mumbled into the mattress.

Dean moved mechanically around the room, carefully laying salt lines by the door and windows. He felt Sam's eyes on his back as he pulled off his wet clothes and exchanged them for a dry pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then made his way to the window where he pulled back the curtain and stared dolefully out into the stormy night.

"Hey." Sam's said softly. "You okay?"

Dean let the curtain fall back in place and turned to face his brother. "Yeah. 'Course." He pulled back the blanket on the other bed and lowered himself onto the mattress.

Sam raised an eyebrow, not convinced, but decided against pressing the matter. Instead he shrugged and said, "Turn off the light, then, and go to sleep."

Dean reached for the lamp near his bed and switched it off. The sudden darkness made the rhythmic sound of the pounding rain more prominent and Dean felt the heavy rock in his stomach turn to ice. He shivered and pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders in an attempt to warm some of the chill that seemed to have soaked through his clothes and skin and made it's way all the way to his soul. After a few minutes, Dean heard Sam's breathing even out on the other side of the room, and he began to snore quietly, a sure sign that Sam was asleep – finally someplace warm and comfortable and safe. Dean took comfort in the thought that his brother was, for the moment, content, and he let himself drift into a much needed sleep.

Dean's first conscious thought was _coffee. _The smell of the freshly brewed caffeine pushed through the fog of Dean's dreams with the same effect as a blaring alarm clock, only much more pleasant. He rolled over and glanced at the bed next to him where Sam was munching on an apple and reading a newspaper, clearly in a much better mood than the previous night.

"Here." Sam perked up when he noticed Dean was awake. "I got you some coffee and a donut." He grabbed the styrofoam cup and small paper bag on the nightstand and handed them to Dean.

"Thanks." Dean said, sitting up and taking his breakfast from Sam. He sipped the hot liquid and closed his eyes contentedly as he felt it move down his throat and into his stomach, effectively warming him from the inside out. He took a large bite from the donut and grinned at Sam. "Anything interesting?" He asked, indicating the newspaper in Sam's hands.

Sam looked up at Dean's mumbled speech and noticed his full mouth. "God you're gross." He said shaking his head and turning back to the paper. "Nope. Nothing." He sighed. "Not even an unknown cause of death in the obituaries. Just a couple old guys."

Dean snorted at his brother's bluntness. "Wow, Sammy. Way to be tactful."

"Shut up." Sam retorted. "You don't even know what that word means.

"Do to." Dean took another swig of coffee before rising from the bed and heading to the bathroom to shower.

The hot water did wonders for Dean's mood as it seemed to wash off all the bitterness and resentment and worry that had been building the past few days. Dean couldn't believe how optimistic he was feeling for the first time in a very long time, and Sam's attitude had seemed to improve greatly as well. Maybe all they needed really was an adequate bed, a decent nights sleep and the safety of four walls.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked upon re-entering the small room.

Sam shrugged and continued flipping through channels on the TV.

Not wanting to compromise Sam's mood or his own, Dean suggested spending one more night in the small town. It wasn't like they had any pressing matters to attend to. They had been driving aimlessly across the United States ever since leaving Bobby's house weeks ago. Not that it was much of a change from their normal routine, but at least they usually had something to do. Some hunt to keep them from going crazy. It seemed that all the monsters had collectively decided to go on an extended vacation, and for one day, Dean decided, he would take advantage of the time off and spend some quality time doing nothing at all with his brother.

Sam agreed to staying in the town and Dean plopped down happily on the bed and watched the TV channels flip by as Sam searched for something worth stopping on.

"Where are we anyway?" Dean asked, realizing that in the rain the previous night, he had not even noticed the name of the town they had pulled into.

"Battle Lake, Minnesota." Sam finally settled on some small claims court reality show. "Population 767."

"Huh." Dean leaned back on the bed and rested his head on his arm. He watched contentedly as the lady on the TV screen explained that she had not gotten her computer back after moving out of her ex boyfriend's house, and listened as Sam laughed and used his law school knowledge to comment on the woman's unfortunate situation.

The day was uneventful, and towards evening Dean found himself getting restless and almost wishing that he and Sam had not paid for another night at the motel, but the deed was already done and Sam still seemed content enough so Dean kept his mouth shut.

"Hey," He said after they had ordered a pizza to the room and ate half of it in comfortable silence. "How about we go down to the bar for a couple hours, huh?"

Sam pondered the offer over a bite of pepperoni. "Sure." He shrugged. "Sounds good."

They stuffed the over-sized pizza box into the small fridge and headed out the door. The town was small enough that the bar was only a few blocks away and the nearly nonexistent traffic made it easy to walk. They decided that leaving the Impala would be best, in case they both ended up drinking. Besides, the rain had long since stopped and the clouds had dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind a clear sky and setting sun.

The bar was a place called The Village and Dean though there was probably a joke in there somewhere about a village being a place where all the people lived, maybe indicating that the whole town was a bunch of alcoholics, but he couldn't quite put it together so instead he just ordered a couple beers for himself and Sam and went to sit by his brother. They laughed and talked over a few drinks and Dean was amazed at how absolutely normal it all felt. For the first time since Dad died, maybe even long before that, Dean thought that maybe everything really would be okay.

The people of Battle Lake, Minnesota offered slim pickings when it came to girls. Not that Dean was looking for someone to bring back to the room. He wasn't about to kick Sam out and possibly ruin the good thing that they finally had going between them again, he was just looking for someone to flirt with while at the bar. It had been a while, and Dean figured he needed to brush up on his lady charming skills before he got rusty. As if on cue, two good looking girls walked in and immediately caught Dean's eye. Dean watched as the girls looked around the crowded room and stopped when their eyes fell on Sam and Dean. Dean flashed a crooked smile and the brunette smiled back, tugging at her blond friend's arm as she led them in the direction of the brothers.

"Heads up, Sammy." Dean kicked his brother under the table and nodded toward the girls. Sam immediately straightened and smiled politely at the girls as they approached the table.

"Anyone sitting here?" The brunette asked, pointing to the chair next to Dean.

"Nope." Dean replied, pulling the chair out for the girl to sit. Sam smiled at the blond and offered her the chair next to him.

"I'm Mandy." The brunette said as she and her friend both sat. "This is my friend Kate."

"You two from around here?" Dean asked, turning on the charm.

The four of them talked over the next hour or so, all the while ordering beers and even doing a few shots. Even Sam seemed to be having a good time, though his conversation with the blond was more of a friendly chat, while Dean's time with the brunette had at some point turned into light touching – almost inappropriate for the public setting – and serious eye contact. Finally, Sam gave Dean a look that clearly meant _it's time to get going _and Dean nodded, indicating that he understood and agreed.

"Well, ladies, it's been a pleasure." Dean started. "But I think my brother and I need to get back to the hotel as soon as we finish these drinks."

Mandy suddenly reached for Dean's glass and her own. Kate did the same with Sam's glass, and Dean raised his eyebrows suspiciously, but his alcohol clouded mind came up with nothing and Mandy smiled, handing Dean's glass to him.

"To meeting sexy people in random small town bars." Mandy said cheerfully.

"Cheers." Kate agreed as she handed Sam's drink back to him.

"Mmm." Dean grunted his approval and all four finished their beers on the toast.

"I don't suppose you boys would be interested in walking us to our car?" Mandy asked seductively, and Dean quickly obliged.

The four of them stood up and headed to the door. Sam stumbled and Dean laughed, grabbing his arm to steady him. "Had a few too many?" He teased. "You always were a lightweight, Sammy."

Sam smiled back, but kept his grip on Dean's arm as they made their way out of the bar.

"We parked around back." Mandy announced, linking her arm around Dean's and pulling him too quickly toward the back parking lot. Sam lost his grip on Dean's arm and Dean turned to wait for him, but Kate had taken over as Sam's crutch, so he let Mandy lead the way to the car.

Once they rounded the corner, Mandy turned and gave Dean a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks." She said, then leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry." Before turning and running to her vehicle. Dean watched curiously as Kate ran past him to the car and the girls drove quickly away.

Dean turned back to Sam, who Kate had left a good 30 feet behind. _I'm sorry? _Dean pondered the words as he started walking back toward his brother. _What did the girl possibly have to be sorry for?_ Dean saw Sam stumble again as he tried to take a step closer. He put an arm up to steady himself, but fell to the ground when there was nothing there to support him.

"Sam?" Dean called and quickened his pace, but was surprised to discover that his legs weren't cooperating the way he wanted them to and he also tripped and fell to his knees. _What the hell? _He thought. Dean had been tipsy, he had been drunk, and he had been completely smashed, and this wasn't any of those. He raised his head to look at Sam who was now laying flat on his back, rolling his head from side to side. "Samm–" Dean tried to call, but the word was cut off as his tongue refused to work. The last thing Dean remembered was seeing a tall man approach Sam and stand above him– then everything went black.

**Well I hope you enjoyed so far. Things are just starting to heat up. If you liked it, review, because if nobody likes it then there's no point in me continuing!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! I decided to do another chapter right away. I still need to get you guys interested in this story! I see you all who already added this story to your watch and favorites. Thank you! And to those of you who reviewed, I love you! **

**Author's notes at the end to avoid chapter spoilers**

As Dean began to regain consciousness, the first thing he was aware of was the cold. It was not unbearable, but definitely past the point of uncomfortable. He shivered. The second thing he was aware of was the pain. Again, not unbearable. Just the dull throb of being in one position for too long. He tried to shift his body, but found that it was very difficult to move. The third thing Dean was aware of was a noise. A soft, incoherent mumbling. It sounded human, and whoever it was sounded like they were no better off than Dean. Unable to do anything else, Dean focused on the sound of the voice. He tried to make out the almost-words. "_Whann" _and "_hellsh" _and "_D'nn". _

The last one cut straight through the lingering clouds of unconsciousness as Dean recognized his own name being called, the voice was clearly Sam's. Dean's eyes shot open and he scanned the dimly lit room. The scene before him was hard to comprehend given that Dean couldn't remember the events leading up to waking up on the floor of an unfamiliar room. He found Sam immediately. His younger brother was directly across from him, shirtless and tied to a chair. The rope was tightly secured around Sam's wrists, ankles and chest. Whoever put him there clearly took extra precaution to make sure Sam wouldn't escape.

Dean tried moving to get to Sam, but quickly found that he too was restrained. His arms were pulled painfully around a pole behind his back and tied tightly by the wrists. Another rope was secured around his waist, so that he was unable to slide up into a standing position. He sat on the cold cement floor.

"Sam?" Dean called out, but Sam didn't respond other than to roll his head lazily to one side and groan. Dean quickly tried to assess his brother's body for damage. As far as Dean could see, there was none, and Dean figured that Sam was just still half-unconscious from whatever force had brought them there. Dean resorted to studying the room until Sam woke up or their captor returned, whichever happened first.

It appeared that they were in some sort of old warehouse and the realization troubled Dean as he considered the uses of an abandoned warehouse when it came to kidnapping people. The lighting was dim and thick dust reflected what little light there was, creating a glowing haze around the room. Forgotten crates cast elongated shadows across the cold cement floor and Dean could hear the skittering of mice or some other small creatures somewhere in the dark corners of the room. Dean continued to twist his hands in an attempt to loosen the ties. He could feel the rope cutting into his wrists and the warm blood as it rose from under the friction of the rope and cooled on his skin.

"Sammy." He called again and watched hopefully as his brother stirred, rolling his head back slowly, only to let it drop again to his chest. Dean waited. A second later Sam's head snapped up again and his eyes opened slowly.

"Dean?" Sam blinked slowly, only half awake.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm here." Dean reassured him.

"Wha... what happened?" Sam looked confused as he began to take in their surroundings, and realized that he was tied up.

"Not sure." Dean gritted his teeth as he continued to work the rope that held his wrists. "Last thing I remember is the bar."

"The bar..." Sam repeated, more as a thought to himself than to Dean.

"You alright?" Dean asked. "Are you hurt?"

Sam wiggled as best he could in the chair, testing his body to see if anything felt broken. "I'm good." He replied finally. "You?"

"I'm fine. We gotta get out of here, man. Whatever this is, it isn't good."

Sam silently agreed, and began moving what little amount the ropes would allow, attempting to loosen their hold. Sudden footsteps alerted Dean to possible danger and he stiffened, preparing for whatever might come next. Sam heard the steps and stilled as well. They both waited.

"Well, well, well." A voice sounded from behind a shadow. Deep. Male. Unfamiliar. "If it isn't the Winchester boys. Sam and Dean. The last time I saw you two..." The voice trailed off as the man stepped into the light enough for Dean to see. He was a tall man, almost as tall as Sam, with black shoulder-length hair pulled into a ponytail and a scar that extended from under his left eye down to his chin. Dean didn't recognize the man and looked to Sam for confirmation. Sam shrugged.

"What. You boys don't remember me?" The man laughed and stepped closer until he was positioned in between the brothers. "I'm hurt." He chuckled again. "I guess I'm not surprised. Like I was saying, I haven't seen you two since you were just kids. Sam, I think you were probably 5." He took a step closer to the younger Winchester and Dean squirmed, uncomfortable with the man's interest in Sam.

"Who are you?" Dean growled, attempting to take the man's focus off his brother.

The man turned back to Dean with a smug smile on his face. "And Dean." He said calmly. "That would have made you, what, 8? 9? I'm a little bit surprised you don't remember." When Dean didn't respond, the man continued his monologue. "The name's Marcus. I guess you're just not as observant as your daddy thought. But then, I always knew that. Just not the hunter he wanted you to be." Dean gritted his teeth at the mention of his father, and Marcus continued with a smile, knowing that he had hit a nerve. "Hell, Dean, you didn't even realize the girls at the bar were only playing you. Didn't notice when they drugged your drink, did ya? No... and now poor Sammy is going to have to pay the price for your lack of attention to detail."

At that, Dean pulled hard on his restraints and grunted when the thick rope didn't show any sign of loosening. "What do you want?" He asked bitterly.

"Well, you see, John was a friend of mine. Key word being _was, _and don't mean because he's dead, I mean because he screwed up. Ruined my life." Marcus paused at a table and ran his hand against something that Dean couldn't see. His stomach dropped when Marcus picked up the object and Dean saw that it was a steel pipe. Marcus swung the pipe in his hands like a baseball player practicing his swing. "He killed my boy, you understand? I guess your daddy wasn't the hunter I thought he was either. _He _screwed up. And _my son_ paid the price."

Marcus swung the bar angrily and stopped just inches from Sam's head. Sam flinched away and Dean tensed. "So what, you're going to kill us to get back at our dad?" Dean asked, desperate to get the man's attention off Sam. "That's real noble."

"That's not what this is." Marcus said turning to face Dean, but not stepping any further away from Sam. "Well," He added with a smug smile. "That's not entirely true. You see, your daddy? He trusted me. Kinda like how I trusted him. You know how well that turned out for me." Marcus turned his attention back to Sam. "He told me about you, Sam. Told me that the demon had plans for you. He _told_ me that! And then he killed my son."

Dean's heart raced as he put together what the older man was saying. This was a twisted attempt at revenge mixed with fighting what the man believed to be evil. Dean could see the fire in Marcus' eyes. He didn't care if he was wrong. He wasn't going to listen to reason. This was personal.

"I'm a hunter." Marcus continued. "I've been watching you boys. I know you have visions, Sam. I can't let you walk around when I know what you are. I can't let you live. I'm a better hunter than John. I don't make mistakes that get other people killed."

"Hold on." Sam started, but Marcus cut him off.

"And then there's the revenge thing. I'm not gonna lie, Dean." Marcus put a hand on Sam's shoulder and turned his head to Dean. "I'm not gonna let Sammy here go easily. I'm going to drag this out." He paused for dramatic effect. "_For my son_." He said through clenched teeth, stressing every word.

"If you lay a hand on him I swear to god I will kill you." Dean threatened, unable to do anything else to protect his brother.

Marcus' tone turned playful again and he took a step back, twirling the pipe in his hands.

"These intros are so awkward, don't you think? I mean, where in the rule book does it say that you have to explain your intentions to evil demon children before you kill them?" Marcus laughed and stopped twirling the pipe. "Well. Now that _that's_ over, how about we get to work!" He swung the pipe hard on the last word and Dean cringed as the hard metal made contact with Sam's chest.

Sam huffed as the air was forcefully pushed from his lungs and gasped as he tried to suck it back in. Marcus swung the pipe again across Sam's chest and then on his leg. Sam cried out with the last painful strike and threw his head back in a desperate attempt to suck in the air that his body screamed for.

"Stop!" Dean cried, panicked. "Please!"

Marcus stopped and turned to face Dean. "The thing is, Dean, I'm not here to ask questions or bargain. I have all the cards and you got nothing. All I want is to kill something evil, and there's nothing you can offer me that will change my mind."

"Kill _me_." Dean pleaded. "Please."

"Dean... no." Sam said between gasped breaths.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Dean." Marcus said. "But for now it has to be Sam."

"He's not evil!" Dean shouted.

"Yes he is!" Marcus was suddenly angry. "John knew it. He told you, Dean."

Sam raised his head. "What's he talking about?" He asked.

"Sammy, nothing." Dean said, desperate to keep the secret from Sam and not add to the pain his younger brother was already suffering.

"You didn't tell him?" Marcus asked, sounding sincerely surprised. "I'm surprised. I thought you two were close." He shrugged. "Your daddy knew that there was something evil in you, Sam. He told Dean about it before he died. He told him that he'd have to kill you himself."

Sam furrowed his brow and looked to Dean. Dean could see the disbelief and betrayal in his eyes. Sam didn't want to believe what Marcus was saying, but he had to hear it from Dean. _This is not happening, _Dean thought. _Damn it. This cannot be happening_.

"Dean?"

"Sammy." Dean whispered, not knowing how to tell his brother, without hurting him, the secret that had been plaguing him for weeks. Was he supposed to lie? It was too late for that now. Sam could read Dean just as well as Dean could read Sam, and Dean was sure it was obvious that there was at least some truth to what Marcus was saying. Some secret that Dean wasn't telling him. "I never even considered it. I would _never_..." His voice trailed off as Sam bit his lip and looked away from Dean, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. It didn't matter that Dean would never act on his father's words, what mattered was that all the worry that Sam had been enveloped in was now justified. Every time Dean had told him not to worry, that he wasn't going to go dark side, it was all a lie – because Dean had known all along that there _was_ something to worry about.

"So there _is _something evil in me."

"No." Dean said quickly. "It was only if I couldn't save you, Sam. Dad said I had to save you. I'm _going _to save you. Sammy?" Dean pleaded when Sam didn't respond.

"Well this has been touching to watch." Marcus chimed in. "Really, better than the Hallmark channel, but we should get back to work." He smiled as he swung the pipe again. Dean flinched and looked away as it made contact with his brother's chest, and Dean heard the sharp crack of a rib as it broke on impact.

Sam tried his hardest not to give Marcus the satisfaction of hearing him yell from the pain, but the cracking of bones and Sam's sporadic breathing was telling enough. He was feeling every blow. Dean watched helplessly as Marcus brought the pipe down on Sam again and again, until Sam could no longer hold up his own head and he let his chin fall to his chest and whispered breathlessly, "Please."

"Stop it, damn it!" Dean's voice was hoarse from yelling, but Marcus ignored the rising panic in the older Winchester. It only took a few more powerful blows before Sam made a small gasping noise and his body relaxed. _Thank god. _Dean thought as the older man stopped his merciless beating, though Dean knew that God had absolutely nothing to do with it.

"Nick, check their ties." Marcus said as he left the room, dropping the bloody pipe to the ground.

Dean watched in horror as the kid from the motel lobby stepped out of the shadows. _Had he been there the whole time?_ Nick checked Sam's ropes and then made his way to Dean, painfully tightening the rope even more, and reversing what little progress Dean had made over the past half hour.

"Nick." Dean pleaded, desperate to try anything to save his brother. "You don't have to do this. Untie me. We can all walk away and nobody has to get hurt."

Nick glared down at Dean, and Dean saw no hope in the young man's eyes. "Your daddy killed my brother." Nick said in the same monotonous tone he had used at the motel. "And now _my_ daddy's gonna kill _your_ brother." No sign of emotion registered on Nick's face as he turned to leave.

"Shit!" Dean yelled once he was alone with his brother's beaten and unconscious body. Nick had recognized them back at the motel, Dean was sure of it. The girls at the bar were in on it, too. They had drugged the drinks and Dean had even known something was off, but let alcohol cloud his judgment. He had led them right into this nightmare and now Sam was the one suffering for his mistakes.

In the dim light, Dean strained his eyes to see how much damage there was to Sam's body. He had a gash over his right eye that, in the nature of a head wound, was bleeding way more than should be possible. The blood ran down Sam's face and dripped onto his chest, making it difficult to see where Sam actually had cuts and where the blood was just leftover from some other wound. The skin along Sam's ribs was already starting to turn into a large purple bruise.

"Sammy?" Dean called softly, but the younger hunter didn't move. He watched closely for the rise and fall of Sam's chest, indicating that he was at least still breathing, and allowed himself a moment to be relieved when he saw the small movement – Sam's breathing was shallow, but he _was _breathing. Dean restarted the painful task of loosening the ropes around his wrists as he waited for his brother to wake up, praying that he would be able to find a way to save Sam from this hell.

**Authors note: I know Marcus is a bit like Gordon's character (minus the revenge thing) and I apologize for not being more creative.**

**Ok! There's chapter 2! Poor Sam isn't out of the woods yet. Will they even make it out alive? I haven't decided. Please, please review! More reviews = quicker updates! **


	3. Chapter 3

There was no way for Dean to determine exactly how much time had passed since Sam had lost consciousness and Marcus had left. There were no windows to determine the time of day by the position of the sun, and it wasn't like Marcus kept a clock on the wall next to Sam. Dean slowly and methodically twisted his wrists against the restraint of the ropes as he watched Sam's chest rise and fall with each breath. Some terrible little voice inside of him kept nagging at him. _Sammy's going to die. _It said. _You can't save him. Just like you couldn't save Dad or Jessica. You can't save anybody. _Dean shook his head violently and did his best to ignore it.

At some point, Sam's breathing became ragged, each breath accompanied by a pained, choking sound, and Dean worried that a broken rib may have punctured a lung. If Sam stopped breathing now, Dean wouldn't be able to help. Sam would die right in front of him and there would be nothing he could do about it. The thought was painful and fueled Dean's desire to free himself – to save his brother. The rope cut deeper into Dean's wrists and he bit the inside of his cheek against the pain.

After what seemed like days, Sam finally groaned and rolled his head to the side. "Oh god." He moaned as his brain woke up enough to register the pain.

"Sammy." There was no comfort Dean could offer his brother other than letting him know that he was there and he wasn't going to leave him.

Sam's eyes opened slowly and he inhaled a small, shaky breath. "Dean? What happened?"

"Marcus kidnapped us, remember?" Dean said hesitantly, though he hoped Sam had forgotten the brutal beating and the words that had been said. Words that would give Sam every reason in the world to be angry with him. Dean knew that he deserved it, but the added weight and pain that came along with it was something that Sam did not need at the moment – or ever.

"Marcus." Sam lowered his eyebrows and winced as the memories came back to him. "Yeah..." He said softly. He remembered.

"Can you move?" Dean asked, but Sam's eyes were already sliding closed again. "Sam!" Dean shouted, trying to keep his brother awake. "Stay with me, man."

Sam groaned in protest and rolled his head toward Dean, and Dean could see the look of defeat already on his brother's face. "Whas th point D'n?" Sam mumbled almost incoherently as he slowly lost the fight to stay conscious. His eyelids slipped shut.

"Sam!" Dean yelled again, demanding Sam's attention, and Sam opened his eyes slowly and took another labored breath. Dean spoke quickly and with an urgency that he needed Sam to understand. _Sam had to understand._ "Don't you do that. You can be mad at me all you want after we get out of here, okay? But you are _not _evil and you are _not _going to die here. Do you understand me?" Sam just stared back in response, hazel eyes pained and unfocused. "I said _do you understand me_?" Sam nodded his head and murmured his agreement before dropping his chin back to his chest. "Sammy?" Dean asked worriedly, and cursed when Sam didn't respond.

Footsteps echoed again through the warehouse and the now familiar deep voice of Marcus sounded from the darkness before Dean was able to see the man.

"Oh, Sam's out again?" The older man asked. "I must have just missed him." It occurred to Dean that Marcus must have a camera set up somewhere, watching his and Sam's every move. He always seemed to know when Sam was awake, when he could come back and inflict more pain – cause more damage. "Doesn't matter though." Marcus said with a wry smile. "This should wake him up."

Dean felt panic rising in his chest when he saw Marcus lift a syringe from the table. "Stay away from him!" He pleaded. "What's is that? Please."

"Doesn't matter what exactly this is." Marcus grinned as he held the syringe in the light for Dean to see clearly, and flicked at the side of the barrel with his finger. "All that matters is that it's gonna wake him up. And it aint gonna be fun." He paused, then added, "For Sam anyway."

"Please." Dean was completely helpless. He felt like a broken record, saying over and over _please _and _stop _and _I'm going to kill you. _But Marcus paid no attention to his pleas. By this point, Dean had lost feeling in his hands, but no matter how much he struggled against the rope, it wouldn't budge. He could do nothing but watch as the sadistic hunter moved closer to his brother.

Marcus shoved the needle into Sam's neck and pressed the plunger, forcing the drug into Sam's blood stream. It only took seconds for Sam to react. He sat bolt upright in the chair and his eyes shot open as if he were being electrocuted. Every muscle tightened and Dean could see the veins in Sam's neck and arms bulging as he held his breath against the pain.

"Breathe, Sammy. Breathe." Dean felt hot tears stinging his eyes as he attempted to coach his brother through the pain.

Sam let out a sharp breath that quickly turned into an agonizing scream. "Gaaahh!" He shouted and began taking in quick, short breaths through clenched teeth. "Oh god,Dean." Sam gasped. "Fire! I'm on fire!"

"You son of a bitch." Dean said to Marcus as the tears spilled over onto his cheeks. "I'm going to kill you."

"That would be a neat trick." Marcus chuckled as he set the syringe back on the table and picked up a small hunting knife, the blade glistening menacingly in the dim light. "Considering that you'll be dead." He paused to give Dean a quizzical look and then continued. "What, you didn't think I was going to kill Sam and then let you run free, did you? I'm not an idiot, Dean."

"Could've fooled me."

"Always with the attitude." Marcus shook his head as he carried the knife to where Sam sat, still tense and breathing heavily. Eyes squeezed shut and face twisted in agony. "I'm a bit surprised that you don't give it up. Especially when your brother is the one that has to pay for your smart mouth." Marcus dragged the blade of the knife across Sam's arm, and though it didn't break the skin, Sam threw his head back and screamed through clenched teeth. "See, that drug I gave your brother woke up all his nerves. Set them on fire. He's in excruciating pain just sitting here, but when something happens to actually cause him pain –" Marcus pressed the knife harder onto Sam's skin and Sam let out a choked sob. "–the pain he feels is multiplied a hundred fold. I doubt you or I have ever felt anything quite like it, Dean." Marcus pressed the knife into Sam's arm until it drew blood and Sam yelled.

Dean cursed at Marcus and banged his back against the bar, the only movement he was allowed. Marcus clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You can call me names and promise empty threats all you want, Dean. It's not going to do anything to help Sam. And you want to know the best part? Sam wont be able to pass out from the pain until the drug wears off, and that will take about an hour. I better get to work, I'm wasting time."

Marcus pushed the knife deep into Sam's arm, just above his wrist, and sliced all the way to the elbow. Sam screamed. Marcus moved to the other arm, leaving trails of crimson blood wherever the knife touched skin. He moved to Sam's chest, knowing where to cut deep and where to only scratch the skin so that nothing important would be damaged, and Sam wouldn't bleed out before he was done. Dean yelled and threatened and begged and bargained and cried, but Marcus never even acknowledged Dean's presence as he cut Sam again and again. Sam's cries echoed off of every surface of the warehouse and ricocheted back to Dean, pounding into him until Dean could almost feel Sam's pain. Finally, the screams turned into quiet moans and Sam's head rolled lazily from side to side as the drug wore off and he was finally able to pass out.

"Get your cousin in here to clean him up." Marcus ordered, and once again Nick stepped out from the shadows and hurried off to whatever lay beyond the walls of the warehouse. "Wouldn't want Sam bleeding to death before we finish." Marcus wiped the bloody blade on his t-shirt and set it on the table before leaving, and Dean was once again alone with his unconscious brother.

Silent tears rolled freely down Dean's cheek as he listened to Sam's ragged breathing. He really screwed up this time. How could Sam ever forgive him? How could he ever forgive himself for letting this happen? There was no way, and if Sam died... Dean stopped the thought in it's tracks. Sam wasn't going to die. He couldn't die. Dean was going to get Sam out of this warehouse if it was the last thing he did. Dean watched Sam and prayed that he would stay unconscious until Dean could find a way out of this mess, so that he wouldn't have to endure another one of Marcus's painful torture ideas. In the silence, Dean could swear he could still hear Sam's screams resounding throughout the building.

Sam was bleeding too much. If he didn't get patched up, he wasn't going to last much longer. "Hey!" Dean didn't want to bring Marcus back, but knew that Sam needed help, and Dean wasn't going to be able to get to him in time. Besides, Marcus said that he didn't want Sam to bleed to death. Hopefully that was still true, and he would send someone to clean Sam up.

Dean was about to shout again when a girl walked out of the shadows. "Mandy." Dean said in surprise, recognizing the brunette from the bar who had drugged his drink.

Mandy didn't acknowledge Dean, but instead took out a medical kit and began cleaning Sam's cuts, stitching the ones that were too deep.

"Mandy, please." Dean tried to keep the rising panic out of his voice as he spoke. He took a steadying breath and tried to sound calm – like talking someone down from the edge of a cliff, or coaxing a scared animal out of a hole. "Untie me. I wont hurt you... or Marcus or Nick. I'll just take Sam and go. Please. You don't need to do this. Sam never hurt anyone. He's not evil."

Mandy ignored him as she continued to work. At least she seemed to know what she was doing, and Sam was getting the patch up that he needed. The little voice that had been taunting him earlier was now saying, _this is your last chance. _

"You're not a bad person, Mandy. Look at him. He's going to die if you don't help us. Please."

Mandy finished cleaning up Sam and finally turned to acknowledge Dean. "I'm so sorry." She said sadly, then turned and left without another word.

"Mandy!" Dean called after her, but she was either out of ear shot, or chose not to respond.

Dean felt his chest tighten as the realization dawned that it was truly up to him to save Sam. Mandy was not going to help. He felt useless and angry and afraid for his brother's life. Sam, who he was supposed to look out for and protect at all costs. Sam, who was there, just 20 feet away, and there was not a thing Dean could do to protect him now. 

"Sam." Dean whispered, but his voice was swallowed up by the mind-numbing silence that filled the warehouse_. _He dropped his chin to his chest and let the tears flow freely down his cheeks as he racked his brain for a plan. Something. _Anything. _"Sammy."_  
><em>

**Oh my gosh, season finale on Friday. I don't know if I'll make it! Kripke wrote the finale, so I'm preparing for my soul to be shattered. If I live I'll be sure to get another chapter up soon. Remember, reviews help! ;) Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you _so much_ to everyone who has reviewed and added this story to your alerts or favorites! **

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><p>Quite some time had passed without Marcus returning and Dean thought maybe it was night and Marcus wouldn't be back until morning, though the fact that Sam was still unconscious might have something to do with it – Marcus usually waited until Sam woke up. Either way, Dean figured it had to have been at least twelve hours since they had woken up the first time, and who knew how long before that. Dean could feel his eyelids getting heavy, but he fought the urge to fall asleep – not willing to take his eyes of his brother. He convinced himself that if he fell asleep he would truly be abandoning Sam, and that was unacceptable.<p>

Sam hadn't moved in hours. Sometimes Dean would panic when he was sure that Sam had stopped breathing, but then Sam would moan quietly or cough, and Dean would let out a relieved breath and go back to watching the tiny rise and fall of Sam's chest. From his place on the floor, he looked over the cuts and bruises on Sam's body as best he could. It seemed that Mandy really did know what she was doing, because even though Sam looked like absolute hell, none of the wounds looked like they would be immediately life-threatening. If Dean could just find a way to get Sam to a hospital, he would be fine. _Don't get your hopes up _the voice in his head berated. _You're not strong enough to get Sam out of this._

The twist-your-wrist-until-the-rope-loosens-or-your-hands-fall-off plan didn't seem to be going well, and Dean wouldn't be surprised if the latter happened long before the rope itself gave away. _What the hell kind of rope was this anyway?_ Dean wondered angrily. The frustration was adding to his fatigue, and the weight on his eyelids became almost painful. He reluctantly let his eyes slide closed. _Just for a second, _he told himself. _I can think better with my eyes closed._

_You're worthless, _the nagging voice responded, and Dean felt himself being pulled under by sleep. _That's right, _the voice echoed in his head. _Just give up. There's nothing you can do._

"Dean?"

Someone was calling his name, but Dean was tired and cold and thirsty and very uncomfortable, and he decided that he just couldn't be bothered to be awake at the moment.

"Dean!" The voice called again, louder this time, and Dean recognized it as Sam's voice.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean grumbled, but something wasn't right. Sam didn't sound right. His voice was weak and raspy. Dean's eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright when he remembered where he was and what was happening. "Sammy?"

Sam was awake, looking tired and frustrated and for all the world like he was going to pass out again at any second. Dean scolded himself for falling asleep.

"You okay?" Sam asked quietly, voice tired and hoarse.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, Sam. I'm fine. You're the one we should be worried about. Are _you _okay?" Dean could hear the pain in every breath Sam took, and he knew without a doubt that his brother was _not _okay.

Sam was quiet for a moment, then answered, "I've been better."

"Yeah, you've looked better." Dean said, attempting to lighten the situation with humor, but knowing that he failed miserably. Nothing about this was funny in the slightest, "Sam, how tight are your ropes? I can't get mine to budge. Can you loosen yours?"

Sam wiggled for a moment before saying, "I don't know. They're pretty tight, but I can try."

Dean nodded and looked around the room, but there was nothing to see. His muscles ached from lack of movement, but he felt guilty even thinking about his aches and pains. His minor discomfort was nothing compared to how Sam must be feeling. _Sammy. _Dean didn't know what to say to Sam. Nothing would make this better, nothing would help. Dean was at a loss.

Somewhere in the dark corners of the room, a heavy door was shut loudly and Dean heard the steady rhythm of approaching footsteps. "No, no, no." Dean whispered, and Sam tensed. Mandy came into the light and Dean let out a small, shaky breath when he realized it wasn't Marcus.

Mandy was silent as she carried a bottle of water to Sam and poured it slowly into his mouth, letting him take his time and drink as much as he wanted. He finished three quarters of the bottle before taking a breath, and Mandy smiled sadly at him before moving to Dean. She pulled out a fresh bottle and held it for Dean as he drank.

"Mandy." Dean said when she pulled the bottle away. "Listen, I can get you anything you want. We need your help." Dean wasn't sure what he meant by _anything you want. _It's not like she was robbing a bank and demanding money or a helicopter, and even if she were, Dean would have still been screwed. In reality, there wasn't much Dean could get the girl, but he had no other hope of getting Sam out alive. At this point, he was desperate and willing to say anything.

Mandy quirked an eyebrow at Dean's offer. "Dean, I'm sorry. I really am." She turned to look at Sam. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"If you're sorry, let us go." Dean said. "You don't need to do this. Why are you doing this?"

"Marcus is my uncle." Mandy turned her gaze to the ground. "You help out your family."

"Not like this." Dean objected. "You don't help your family murder innocent people. We never did anything. We didn't hurt your cousin, and your uncle is wrong about my brother." Dean's eyes met Mandy's and he saw tears glistening in them. Was he getting through to her? Could they really be that lucky? "Mandy..." He said softly, cautiously.

She stood up suddenly, her fists clenched tightly and jaw set. Dean didn't know what he had said, but she was suddenly angry. "I can't help you." She said sternly, as if she were scolding a child, then quickly turned and left.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed loudly.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam whispered.

Dean almost didn't hear it. He wasn't sure if Sam meant for him to hear it. "Sorry about what?"

"It's my fault we're here." Sam dropped his head. "It's my fault Mom died, and Jess, and probably Dad too, and now you."

"I'm not dead, Sam. And nothing's your fault. You are _not _a bad person. You aren't going dark side. These people are just crazy."

Sam didn't answer, and Dean considered what he could possibly say to his brother to make him feel better. This wasn't right. Sam was supposed to be angry at him for lying. Not that Dean _wanted _Sam to be mad, but it would be better than this. Instead of anger, Dean only saw defeat in his brother's eyes.

Footsteps echoed once again between the walls and Dean felt his heart accelerate. It wasn't Mandy, he could tell. The steps were loud and determined, too heavy to be the small girl.

"Sam." Dean said hastily, but words couldn't help Sam now, and either way, Dean didn't know what to say. Instead, he just repeated his brother's name. "Sammy."

Marcus came into view carrying a rope. _More ropes? _Dean thought. Jesus, they were never going to be able to break loose. But his mind screamed warnings at him. _This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong._

"Morning, boys." Marcus bellowed. "Sleep well?" He chuckled at his own joke and turned to face Sam, rope in hand. "And how are _you, _Sam? All patched up I see. Looks like you'll live long enough for me to finish the job." Marcus winked and Sam cringed.

Marcus unraveled the rope, and Dean noticed that it was quite short. All of Dean's red flags were up, sirens were sounding in his head. _This is bad _and _this is wrong _and _this is it_. Marcus threw the rope over Sam's head and grabbed on to the either end. "You know how my boy died?" Marcus said thoughtfully. "He was _hung_."

Dean's heart dropped.

Marcus pulled the rope tight around Sam's throat, effectively cutting off his air supply. Sam choked and gasped and finally just opened his mouth in an attempt to suck in air. His hands clenched and unclenched desperately against the arms of the chair. His eyes were wide and afraid and focused on Dean.

"No!" Dean yelled. "Oh god, no." This was it, and Dean knew it. Marcus' son died from hanging, and now Marcus was going to kill Sam by strangling him. Sam's eyes lost their focus and stared through Dean at nothing. His struggling slowed and his mouth opened wider as he tried to pull in a breath.

"Please!" Dean begged, each word saturated with desperation. "Please, Marcus, don't."

At the last second, Marcus loosened the rope around Sam's neck and Sam gasped in a long, ragged breath before dropping his head and erupting into a violent coughing fit. Dean blinked in surprise. Before Sam had a chance to catch his breath, or Dean had a chance to be thankful his brother was still alive, Marcus tightened the rope again, only to loosen it just before Sam lost consciousness.

He repeated this once, twice, three times. On the third time, when Marcus loosened the rope, Sam's head dropped forward and Dean waited. He heard no desperate gasp for air. Sam wasn't breathing.

"No!" Dean choked on the word, tears stinging his eyes.

"Damn it." Marcus growled.

Dean watched in horror as Marcus tipped Sam's chair back and proceeded to beat on Sam's chest with his fist.

"Breathe, Sammy." Dean whispered. "Please. Breathe."

Long seconds passed and Sam didn't breathe. Tears flooded Dean's eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks as he watched his brother's still form. Sam was gone. He was dead. Marcus killed him. Dean dropped his chin to his chest and cried. "Sammy." He mumbled through the tears.

An audible gasp broke the silence and Dean's head snapped up to Sam. He was unconscious, but he was breathing. He was _alive._ Dean involuntarily let out a strange relieved sound. Marcus dragged Sam and the chair back up to sitting position, and then set the rope on the table and stared at Sam. Dean was confused – he was elated that Sam was alive, but he had thought for sure this was it. Instead, Marcus looked frustrated and upset.

"I'll be back." Marcus snapped. "This ends today." And he turned and left the room.

"Sammy?" Dean called, but Sam didn't respond. "Sam!" Dean dropped his head in defeat.

Dean watched Sam's chest intently as the time passed painfully slow. Just as Sam finally began to wake up, footsteps alerted Dean to Marcus' return and the rock in Dean's stomach turned to solid ice as Marcus stepped into the light, holding a bottle clearly marked with a sticker indicating that whatever was inside was poison. Nick followed close behind with a shotgun and a smug look on his face.

"Wake up!" Marcus slapped Sam across the face and Sam squeezed his eyes shut against the cruel awakening before opening them and squinting first at Marcus, then looking to Dean. Dean returned the gaze hoping that, if nothing else, he could at least offer Sam the comfort of knowing he was there. Marcus unscrewed the top of the bottle and Sam's eyes widened.

"What the hell is that?" Dean demanded, but Marcus ignored him.

"Sam, I need you to drink this." Marcus said calmly, and put the bottle to Sam's mouth. Sam pressed his lips into a thin, tight line and turned his head away from the poison. Marcus tried again. "If you don't drink this, Nick is going to shoot your brother."

Nick raised the shotgun and Sam's gaze snapped back to Dean, fear in his eyes.

"Don't listen to them, Sam. Don't –" Dean's words were cut off when Nick slammed the butt of the rifle in to his stomach. Dean grunted and recoiled from the pain.

"No!" Sam croaked, his voice raw from the choking. "No..."

Dean heard the resignation in Sam's voice and he turned back to his brother. "Don't you do it, Sam."

Nick cocked the gun and Sam cried out again. "Wait!" He begged. "Please. I'll do it."

"Sam, don't you dare." Dean pleaded.

Sam's eyes locked onto Dean's as he parted his lips for the bottle, and Marcus brought the bottle to Sam's mouth.

"No, Sam! Don't do this! They're going to kill me anyway! SAMMY!" Dean cried frantically, but Sam refused to listen to reason with a shotgun pointing at his brother's head, and Dean watched in horror as Marcus tilted the bottle and poured the poison into Sam's mouth. Sam swallowed twice and then choked and began coughing violently. "SAM! NO!" Dean screamed, but it was too late.

It seemed to be only seconds before Sam's coughing turned into gasping as he tried to suck in air, but Dean couldn't be sure how fast time was passing. Sam squeezed his eyes closed and banged his head against the back of the chair, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Dean cried. He was sitting there helplessly as his brother died right in front of his eyes. Marcus grinned and took a step back.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and vibrated between the walls of the warehouse, and Nick spun where he was standing before dropping to the ground, a puddle of red blood quickly forming around his lifeless body.

Marcus quickly pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans and turned toward the sound of the gunshot. The shooter was behind Dean, out of his line of sight, but whoever it was intimidated Marcus. Dean saw the fear register on Marcus' face, and he raised the gun and aimed it at Dean. Dean closed his eyes and waited.

Another gunshot rang out and Dean opened his eyes when he didn't feel the pain. Marcus was on the floor holding his shoulder. He quickly rebounded and ran out of the warehouse before the shooter could get off another shot. Dean felt the handle of a knife being pressed into his hands, and seconds later a gruff looking man with a beard and a baseball cap stepped into Dean's view.

"Bobby." Dean breathed, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. "Bobby, get Sam!"

Dean began sawing through his thick ropes and Bobby went immediately to Sam, who was unconscious and struggling to breathe.

"Jesus." Bobby whispered.

The knife broke through Dean's ropes and he jumped up and ran to Sam, ignoring the numbness in his legs from sitting in one position for so long. "Come on, Bobby!" He shouted impatiently and both men began cutting through Sam's ties. Dean worked quickly and watched in horror as Sam's breathing became more and more shallow, until each breath was only a tiny audible gasp. Finally, they cut the last restraint and Sam slumped forward into Dean's arms.

"Help me!" Dean ordered, linking his arms under Sam's armpits and pulling him out of the chair. "They poisoned him. We need to get him to a hospital _now." _

Bobby didn't argue as he wrapped his arms around Sam's legs and led the way out of the building to where his car was parked outside. Dean set Sam's shoulders gently in the back seat and then rushed around to the other side to pull him the rest of the way in. He crawled in next to his brother as Bobby got in the driver's door and sped away from the warehouse.

Dean kept two fingers pressed firmly to Sam's neck, feeling for a pulse as he brushed the hair out of his brother's face and whispered comforting words to him. "You're going to be okay, Sammy. Bobby saved us. We're going to the hospital. You're going to be okay." Sam's pulse was weak and faltering, but there, and the quick gasps of air let Dean know that he was still breathing. Sam's long limbs were crammed awkwardly into the too-small back seat, and his muscles were tight and rigid.

It was all so wrong. Sam wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to die here. Not now, not like this. He was supposed to finish college, become a lawyer, marry Jess, have babies. He was supposed to have a life. Dean felt crushing guilt as he remembered the night he went to Stanford and convinced Sam to come with him. _We have to find Dad, _he said. _I can't do this alone, _he told him. If he had only just left Sam there, never gone to Stanford in the first place... but now Dad was dead and Sam was quickly slipping out of Dean's grasp, and then he would be left with no one. With nothing. _Look out for Sammy._ The voice in his head mocked him. Yeah, he had done a great job at that.

"How far?" Dean demanded

"About ten miles."

Sam exhaled a long, drawn out breath and then his chest fell still. "Shit!" Dean growled. "Bobby, hurry!"

Bobby pressed the accelerator to the floor and Dean pinched Sam's nose and breathed into his brother's mouth. Sam's chest barely rose with each of Dean's forceful breaths, and Dean didn't know if it would be enough. He prayed that ten miles wasn't too far.

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><p><strong>dun dun dun.<strong>

**Holy crap you guys. The finale Friday night? I won't say anything because some people might not have seen it yet, but wow. I can't wait to see what happens in season 7. Gah, can you imagine if that had been the end? I mean, they wrote that episode before they knew that it was renewed.  
>It's going to be a long summer. <strong>

**I'll get the next chapter up as soon as it's finished. Reviews make me happy! (and I need some happiness after Friday night) **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's notes at end of chapter to avoid spoilers. Thank you again to everyone who added this story to their alerts or favorites, and especially to those who reviewed!  
><strong>

There were people yelling. Dean could see the flashing lights of an ambulance and the red glow of a hospital emergency sign. Someone was pulling at his arm, yelling his name, but it was all muffled and slow. Dean's hands were on Sam's chest and tangled in the fabric of his shirt. He forced another breath past his brother's blue-tinged lips and watched as Sam's chest barely moved. It felt like a dream, and Dean almost convinced himself that maybe it was, but then a door opened and someone was pulling Sam away. Dean tried to protest – tried to pull back. There were more hands and shouting and chaos, and the need to hold on to Sam was so great that Dean felt dizzy with it. He heard his name and looked down to a hand gripped tightly on his wrist, pulling him back and away. Away from Sam. He followed the offending arm up to a face – Bobby's face. Bobby was shouting and trying to drag Dean out of the car. Then someone yelled "He's not breathing!" and Dean snapped back to reality.

Dean practically fell backward out of the car door before bolting around to the other side where a couple of medics were lifting Sam onto a gurney and pushing him toward the large hospital doors. A woman was trying to get Dean into a wheelchair, and Dean grabbed her sleeve desperately. "Please." He begged. "He's been poisoned. You have to help him."

Ignoring the wheelchair, Dean followed Sam and the medics in through the hospital doors. Inside, Sam was wheeled through another set of doors, and a short, pudgy man turned and put a hand on Dean's chest. Dean gawked at the man's hand like it was some sort of monster, and the man insisted that Dean stay in the hallway. Dean suddenly had an overwhelming urge to pull out a gun and shoot him. Instead, he simply said, "He's my brother."

"I understand that." The man replied in a gentle tone. "But right now there's nothing you can do for him. We're going to do everything we can to help him, but I need you to stay out here in the waiting room."

"You're insane." Dean shook his head angrily as he attempted to shoulder past the man and into the room where Sam was. A hand oh his arm stopped him.

"Come on, Dean." Bobby said softly. "We don't want to get in the way. Sam's in good hands."

Between Bobby, the nurse-man, and the large security guard at the end of the hall eyeing them suspiciously, Dean knew he was outnumbered. He huffed and stubbornly followed Bobby to the waiting room across the hall. Leaving Sam was almost physically painful. Dean had no idea if his brother was beyond saving. He was exhausted from the CPR, but his efforts to keep his brother alive had done little. Sam's lungs refused to cooperate, and each breath only moved Sam's chest minutely. Dean collapsed into the uncomfortable waiting room chair and put his head in his hands, squeezing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to chase away the looming headache and the persistent doubt in his mind. But his thoughts were somewhere else – somewhere in another room, where doctors were trying to save his brother's life.

Bobby nudged Dean and held out a cup of coffee. Dean stared blankly at the styrofoam cup until Bobby shifted uncomfortably and set the cup aside. The older hunter sat next to Dean and took a sip out of his own cup. "Dean, what the hell happened?" He asked.

"Some guy named Marcus." Dean started, trying to work through the details so Bobby would understand just how horrifying the experience was – so Bobby would understand that Dean _tried_. Lord help him, he tried. But it wasn't enough. "Said he was a hunter. Said he used to be friends with Dad, but Dad made a mistake on a hunt on got his kid killed. It was revenge." Dean purposely left out the other thing – the demon thing. Even though he was sure he could trust Bobby, Dean figured the less people that knew about Sam and the demon the better. Besides, Dad thought he could trust Marcus and look where that got them.

Bobby nodded. "I recognized him. Marcus Robbins. His son, Chris, had some problems and hung himself while Marcus was away on a hunt with John. It wasn't John's fault. The hunt took longer than they expected and John convinced Marcus to stay and finish instead of goin' home to his boys. Marcus blamed John after that."

Shock and denial and pure _hatred _flowed through Dean's veins. All that – everything Sam had gone through – it was all because Marcus' son _killed himself? _

A nurse approached them then – probably stopping Dean from punching a wall – and asked Dean to come with her and get himself checked out. Dean adamantly refused. After a few minutes of badgering and dealing with Dean's snarky remarks, the nurse gave an exasperated huff and stomped off. Bobby shot Dean a sideways glance, but knew better than to ask Dean to go when they didn't even know if Sam was alive. Dean jumped up and began anxiously pacing the waiting room, and Bobby sipped his coffee as they waited for any news.

What seemed like years later, a tall man with tidy gray hair and a kind, but hardened expression on his face walked into the waiting room. He wore a white lab coat over his suit and tie. At the sight of him, Dean halted and perked up, hopeful for news.

"Family of Sam Page?" The man said, looking up from his clipboard.

Dean was next to him instantly, with Bobby close behind.

"My name is Thomas Kendall, I'm Sam's doctor, Mr..." Kendall paused, waiting for Dean to offer his name.

"Page. Dean Page. I'm Sam's brother." He said quickly. "This is Bobby, our uncle."

"Dean, your brother has three broken ribs, a broken wrist and a fractured femur. He has many minor lacerations, and a few that need to be watched carefully for infection. However, our biggest concern is that Sam ingested sodium hydroxide, commonly known as lye. The poison caused burns in his esophagus and stomach, and lung inflammation. That, along with swelling in his throat, caused his inability to breathe. He is currently breathing with the assistance of a ventilator, however I believe that once the swelling in his throat recedes he will be able to breathe on his own."

Dean sighed in relief. "Thank god." He whispered. "So he'll be okay, right Doc?"

"Unfortunately, lye poisoning can be very complicated. We'll need to do an endoscopy to determine the extent of the damage to his esophagus and stomach, and he will need constant IV fluids for the next month at least – to dilute the poison. Lye poisoning can sometimes cause blindness, but we won't know that until Sam wakes up." Kendall looked at Dean apologetically. "The ultimate outcome depends of the extent of damage. Damage may continue to occur for several weeks after the poison was swallowed, and death may occur as long as a month later."

Dean put a hand over his eyes and shook his head. He felt Bobby place a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"When can we see him?" Bobby asked softly.

"You can go in now." Kendall said. "Because of the drugs we gave him, I don't expect him to wake up for at least twelve hours. Once he wakes up and is breathing on his own we can do the endoscopy, and we'll go from there."

Bobby nodded to the doctor and turned to go to Sam's room. Dean followed numbly behind him. He was beyond grateful that Sam was alive, but the only words he could seem to concentrate on were _blindness _and _damage _and _complicated _and _death. _The doctor had warned them about the ventilator, but the sight was still like a physical blow to the stomach. How could this have happened? Less than two days ago they were sitting in a hotel room eating pepperoni pizza and watching court shows. _Sam might never be able to eat pizza again,_ Dean thought grimly.

Dean made his way slowly to Sam's side. He was quiet and cautious as he moved, as if he were afraid to wake Sam – but no amount of noise would wake his brother from his chemically induced sleep. Sam's face was swollen. Actually, his entire body was swollen. Swollen and bruised and bloody despite being cleaned by the nurses, and few of the cuts on his chest looked like they could be infected. Dean choked back tears and collapsed into the chair by the bed with his head in his hands.

"I'm going to get some more coffee." Bobby announced quietly, and left Dean alone with Sam.

Dean lifted his head and looked at Sam, willing him to wake up. _To be okay_. He placed a hand gently over Sam's fingers – the only place that looked safe to touch without the risk of causing more damage – and let himself cry for a moment. "I'm so sorry, Sammy." He whispered as the tears rolled down his cheeks. "You gotta get better for me, okay? I don't know what I'd do without you. I can't do this alone." He paused for a minute and studied Sam's bruised face. "You're safe now, Sam. The _only_ thing you need to worry about is getting better." He dropped his forehead to the thin mattress next to Sam's shoulder. "Please get better, Sam." He whispered into the fabric.

Bobby returned a few minutes later with another cup of coffee for Dean, and once again the cup was left forgotten on a side table. They sat in silence for a while until Dean suddenly realized something. "How'd you know where we were, Bobby?" He asked.

"It was a girl." Bobby answered. "I was calling you. Just to check up, but neither of you were answering. Finally, on probably the twentieth try, a girl answered your phone. She told me where you were and said that you needed help right away or..." Bobby's words trailed off, but he didn't need to finish the sentence in order for Dean to know what followed the 'or'. Dean fully understood how close he had come to losing Sam. Five more minutes and he might be standing in a morgue right now crying over his dead brother.

"Must've been Mandy." Dean said quietly, mostly to himself. Then, louder, "Thanks, Bobby. Sometimes I don't know where we'd be without you."

"I'm just glad I got there in time." Bobby said. "Sam's going to be okay, Dean."

Dean nodded his agreement and they were quiet again for a long time. Periodically, a nurse would come in and check Sam's IV and the ventilator, and change some bandages.

"You should get yourself checked out." Bobby suggested after another hour of sitting in Sam's room.

"I'm fine–"

"Don't tell me your fine. You were tied to a pole in a cold warehouse for nearly two days. You're probably dehydrated, your wrists look like hell, and you're not going to do Sam any good if you're sick. Dean, the doc said Sam wouldn't wake up today, and if he does I'll come get you right away. I promise."

Dean grumbled his disapproval, but went to find a nurse on Bobby's promise that he would know immediately if anything happened with Sam. It seemed to take hours for the nurse to clean and bandage the cuts on his wrists, and Dean refused when she suggested fluids through an IV for a mild case of dehydration. _Mild case of dehydration,_ Dean thought as he walked back to Sam's room. _Sam is unconscious, hooked up to a ventilator with broken bones and the possibility that he might not improve, and all I have is a mild case of dehydration. _It was so unfair that it was almost funny – if it hadn't been so unbelievably, impossibly painful.

Back in Sam's room, Bobby was asleep on a chair in the corner, and Dean realized for the first time how late it was – nearly 5 in the morning – and Dean suddenly felt intensely tired. He nudged Bobby as he passed him. "Go get some sleep." He mumbled, then fell into the cushioned chair by Sam's bed. In seconds, Dean was snoring.

Dean wasn't sure what woke him hours later. He opened his eyes and blinked groggily, his brain taking it's sweet time to wake up and remind him where he was. Then it came again, and Dean felt Sam's hand on his. Sam's fingers brushed lightly against Dean's. He had fallen asleep with his arm resting near Sam's – just close enough to feel the heat from Sam's skin. Dean rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Bobby wasn't in the corner. Maybe he had gone to a hotel for the night, or maybe he had just gone out to stretch his legs and get breakfast. Dean turned his attention to where Sam's hand lay on top of his, fingers wrapped loosely around, and for a moment Dean thought Sam had woken up. It felt like a slap on the face when he realized that Sam hadn't. _At least he's not in a coma._ Dean thought, knowing full well that a coma patient would not be able to move his hand.

"Sammy?" He said softly.

Sam didn't wake up, but Dean was satisfied to see Sam's eyelids twitch at the sound of his name. Dean curled his fingers around Sam's, and rested his head on the back of the chair as he waited. Sam would wake up today – he knew it. And despite everything that had happened, Dean was feeling optimistic that everything would be okay.

**Author's note: I know absolutely nothing at all about medical treatment or being poisoned. Some stuff I did a tiny bit of research on, other stuff I just pulled out of my ass. Just pretend it makes sense. Same goes for any other chapter where anyone is receiving medical care.**

**Marcus is still out there, so I don't think everything's going to be okay just yet.  
><strong>

**Keep in mind, I like reviews! ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it took so long to get this up. You know, Memorial Day weekend and all. I was pretty busy. Again, thank you so much for adding this story to your alerts or favorites and especially for reviewing!**

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><p>For five hours, the only thing Dean did was watch Sam and watch the clock. So when it looked like Sam was finally going to wake up, Dean knew the exact time – it was 1:43 in the afternoon. Dean edged closer and gripped the edge of Sam's blanket as he turned his head and made a small, unhappy noise. Dean was suddenly aware of every bruise on his brother's body, and he hoped that Sam would be hopped up enough on morphine that he wouldn't feel the pain. Sam's eyes fluttered and Dean held his breath. Sam blinked slowly for a few moments before his eyes focused on Dean and a worried crease appeared on his forehead. <em>He's not blind, <em>Dean thought, and he felt so relieved that he could have jumped up and danced. Instead, he called a nurse.

"Dean?" Sam said after the breathing tube had been removed. His voice was barely a whisper, and Dean winced at the roughness of it, but he was talking, _he was breathing, _and Dean had to blink back tears from the simple sound of his brother saying his name.

"Yeah Sam."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. The worried line on his forehead deepened. "Why's it so dark in here?"

Dean looked around the room. The window was open and the afternoon sun was shining directly into the room. It was nowhere near dark. _Oh god he's blind, _Dean thought immediately, but that wasn't right – Sam was looking at him. His eyes were focused.

"Can you see me, Sammy?"

"Well yeah, but it's too dark. I can't see your face."

Dean's stomach twisted with fear. "What do you mean you can't see my face?"

Sam blinked a few more times. "I mean it's dark, Dean." He said, sounding annoyed. "It's just shadows and shapes."

Dean felt like he could cry. He exhaled a long drawn out breath and Sam tilted his head curiously. "Yeah. Okay, Sam." Dean said sadly, patting the back of Sam's hand. "I'll get someone to turn some lights on." It wasn't a lie necessarily – more of a promise. If he had to rob a bank to get money so he could hire a personal scientist to find a way to fix Sam's eyes, he would do it.

Sam smiled, but the emotion didn't reach his eyes. In that smile, Dean could see everything that his brother would never say out loud. His pain, his worry, and his relief to be alive. Sam would have some serious issues to work out after this whole ordeal – they both would, and Dean would be naive to think everything was going to be okay just because they had miraculously made it out with their lives.

"How'd we get out?" Sam asked

"Bobby found us. He got to us just in time."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each taking comfort in knowing that the other was there. Doctor Kendall came into the room after a short while, with Bobby right behind him. Sam looked up at the noise and squinted in an attempt to see who was in the room.

"Sam." Bobby said happily. "It's good to see you awake."

Sam perked up at Bobby's voice. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby nodded once and sat back in the chair in the corner, giving the doctor room to do his job.

Dean locked eyes with Kendall, pointed to his own eyes and shook his head sadly – telling the doctor, without speaking it aloud so Sam would hear, that something was wrong with Sam's vision. Kendall looked worried, but nodded that he understood and turned to Sam.

"Sam." Kendall said as he checked the monitors by Sam's bed. "I'm Thomas Kendall. I've been your doctor since you arrived here yesterday evening."

Sam nodded, but was beginning to look upset. Of course he had known all along that it wasn't the lighting in the room that was limiting his vision. Sam was smart, and Dean figured that Sam just didn't want to say out loud that something was wrong, the same way Dean didn't want to tell Sam the truth about his eyes. Talking about it would make it real. Dean bit the inside of his cheek. This was real weather they talked about it or not.

"Thanks for fixing me up, Doc." Sam said.

"I'm afraid the poison you ingested is affecting your vision." Kendall explained as he wheeled a chair over to Sam's bed and pulled out a small flashlight. He shined the light in Sam's eyes and watched his pupils for a reaction. "The fact that you are not completely blind is a good sign. It may mean that, over time, you could get your vision back one hundred percent. We'll have to do some tests to confirm."

Sam nodded that he understood, and Kendall continued. "But it's more important right now that we do an endoscopy to determine the extent of damage the poison did to your stomach and esophagus. It's a simple procedure. It may be slightly uncomfortable, but it shouldn't be painful."

Sam nodded again and looked toward Dean, and for a moment Dean swore he was looking at a ten year old Sammy – scared and looking to his big brother for help, and Dean couldn't help it when he reached out and brushed his fingers against Sam's. Dr. Kendall and a nurse prepared Sam for the endoscopy, and Dean fidgeted uncomfortably but didn't protest as they wheeled Sam away to do the test. It was over quickly and Sam was back in his bed with Dean by his side in less than an hour.

"They said they'd have the results in 24 hours." Sam said as he popped a small chunk of ice into his mouth and let it melt on his tongue. The tube from the endoscopy had made his throat sore, and Kendall didn't want to give Sam anything other than water until they had the results.

"Sounds good." Dean grabbed the remote as he leaned back in the chair. He looked at the remote and then at Sam who was staring straight ahead at nothing, and decided against the TV. Instead, he picked up a People Magazine that was laying nearby.

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><p>Bobby had left again to retrieve the Impala and their things from the hotel in Battle Lake, and then planned on renting a room just a couple blocks from the hospital. He figured that if either him or Dean needed a shower or a proper night's sleep in a bed rather than a chair, they could take turns at the hotel and the other could stay with Sam. Dean agreed, but had no intention of leaving Sam's side for as long as his brother was stuck in this room. He would insist that Bobby use the room. There was no need for Bobby to be there all the time, and besides, the old man probably couldn't handle sleeping in a chair for a month, Dean figured.<p>

Sam slept on and off throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening. He didn't have much to say, and as much as Dean wanted to constantly ask his brother how he was doing, he somehow managed to keep his mouth shut and only asked maybe nine or ten times. Besides the pain, and the fatigue, and the not-quite-blindness, something else was wrong too. Dean could sense a tension between them, and he knew it had to be because of the secret Dean had kept from Sam – that, according to their father, if Dean couldn't save Sam he would have to kill him. Dean knew the issue would need to be addressed sooner or later, but he really wasn't looking forward to that talk. Besides, now probably wasn't the best time – at least that was the excuse he gave himself.

Bobby came back a little after 7 and parked the Impala in the hospital's parking ramp. He hung around for a couple of hours until Dean insisted that he go back to the hotel for the night and actually get some sleep. Bobby was stubborn about it, but in the end he went.

Sam had been napping most of the day, but now was snoring lightly with his mouth hanging open and Dean figured he was probably out for the night. He put down the hundredth magazine he had read since Sam had woken up, reclined the chair as far as it would go and attempted to sleep. That night, he dreamed of Marcus, the demon, their father, and Sam.

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><p>A nurse came into the room sometime in the early morning, and Dean woke up instantly. His senses were on high alert – he wasn't going to let anything happen to Sam again. The nurse looked startled at his defensive pose, and he quickly morphed his expression into a smile. She relaxed visibly and smiled back before attending to Sam. She switched out his IV bag and whispered to him reassuringly, even though he was still asleep. Dean couldn't help but notice the motherly way she treated Sam, and he thought it was a bit strange because she couldn't have been any older than Dean. Strange – but nice.<p>

"I'm Julia." She said quietly to Dean, offering him a genuine smile, and Dean couldn't help but smile back. She wasn't necessarily the type of girl Dean would normally go for, but she was pretty enough – in a quirky, free spirit type of way. She had dark blonde hair that pulled back into a thick pony. A blue headband held her bangs out of her eyes and she had a necklace with a heavy-looking wooden heart at the end. She wore very little makeup – except for bright red lipstick – but what she did have on made her large brown eyes seem even bigger. She was a small girl, but she stood straight, and Dean could sense confidence in everything she did. He instantly liked her.

"Dean." He replied.

Julia's smile widened and Dean noticed dimples that made him think of Sam. "Well, Dean." Julia said, dipping her head in a motion that reminded Dean of a curtsey, but not quite as dramatic. "I'm going to be one of Sam's primary nurses."

"I guess I'll be seeing you around then."

"I suppose you will." Julia answered, then gave Dean's chair a disapproving look. She leaned closer, as if she were going to tell a secret, and said, "You know, I think we could _probably_ fit another bed in this room."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, but that's really not–"

Julia held her palm out to Dean to interrupt him. "I'll see what I can do." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked – more like strutted – out the door.

Dean watched her go and then nodded approvingly with a smirk. "Sammy, you always get the cute nurses."

Sam woke up a couple hours later. He groaned and complained that his ribs hurt. Dean called a nurse and she gave him more morphine and he was asleep again within the hour.

Around 3pm, Dr. Kendall showed up, and Dean had to reluctantly wake Sam again. As much as he didn't like the idea, the endoscopy results were in and Dean wasn't patient enough to wait for Sam to wake up on his own before hearing the results.

"Well?" Dean asked after Sam was awake and sitting up in bed.

Kendall directed his attention at Sam when he spoke. "You have some pretty severe burns in your esophagus. You are probably feeling something like heartburn right now, and that will be common until the burns heal. Fortunately, we were able to dilute the poison before it did any extensive damage to your stomach. We're going to need to keep you on IV fluids until the burns in your esophagus heal. My guess is about a month. For now, you can drink cool liquids. Nothing hot, and no solid food." Kendall looked to Dean as if to stress the importance of the rule. He turned back to Sam and continued. "Also, the poison limited your body's ability to absorb certain vitamins as well as it should, so you will need to take daily vitamins, probably for at least a year. Possibly longer. Other than that, Sam, I expect you to make a full recovery."

It wasn't perfect, but it was better than Dean had dared to hope for. "You hear that, Sammy?" He nudged his brother lightly. "You're gonna be just fine."

"As for your eyes," Kendall said. "I'd like to do a test tomorrow if you're feeling up for it."

Sam didn't even bother smiling. His jaw was set and his lips were pressed into a thin line as he listened to Kendall explain what the next month or so would be like. "Thanks Doc." He said flatly.

Kendall talked a little bit more about Sam's broken bones, and then left the room. After he was gone, Sam sighed and rested his head back against his pillow.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked cautiously, knowing full well that if there _was _a problem, Sam wouldn't admit to it anyway. Still, he had to ask.

"M'fine." Sam mumbled, and winced as he turned on his side, away from Dean. "Just tired."

Dean let him fall back asleep and he was snoring in no time, leaving Dean to go over things alone in his mind. Sam was alive – that was good. They would probably be stuck in the hospital for the next month – that sucked. Sam couldn't eat for a while. He had broken bones, he was in pain, and he couldn't see well – that was bad. Sam had a cute nurse – that was good. Sam had found out about their father's last words and it was obviously still bothering him, still causing him emotional pain on top of all the physical pain – that was bad.

Dean shook his head and looked once more to Sam. Sam was alive – that was all that mattered.

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><p><strong>Okay, I know there's not a whole lot going on right now, and this chapter was probably a bit slow, but Sam needs a little bit of time to recover before things turn bad again, right? Things will pick up again in the next chapter. I promise. <strong>

**Originally, Sam could see just fine, but someone wanted blind Sam so I went in and changed it up a bit. Ask and you shall receive! I think it's going to be a good change, and I've already got a couple ideas of how to work with it. Though I didn't want Sam to be completely blind so that he could possibly regain his sight at some point if the story calls for it. Also, I feel the need to say again that I don't know crap about medicine and hospitals. I mean, I've never even broken a bone, so I have zero experience and zero knowledge. I apologize if something doesn't make sense.**

**Okay. Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading, reviewing, and sticking with this story. This chapter is a bit long compared to other chapters. I could have split it in two, but I promised action in this chapter. Enjoy!**

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><p>Dean spent another restless night in the chair next to Sam's bed, and Bobby – after an even longer argument than the previous night – spent another night in the hotel room. Sam was spending an incredible amount of time sleeping, and though Dean knew his body was just recovering from the trauma, he still worried. Sam's vision hadn't improved over the past 24 hours, but Sam had a test scheduled for later that day, and Dean was anxious to know if Sam's eyes would ever be the same.<p>

Other than for bathroom breaks, Dean had only left Sam's side once – to get a chicken sandwich at the cafe on the first floor – and his stomach was protesting loudly from the lack of food. He wanted to get something to eat, but he wasn't comfortable leaving Sam. He considered calling Bobby, but it seemed stupid to make the man drive over to the hospital just to sit with Sam for a few minutes while Dean scarfed down a meal. He sighed and shot his sleeping brother an impatient glance, which he immediately scolded himself for. It wasn't Sam's fault they were here. Dean's restlessness was just getting the better of him. He stood to stretch his muscles and winced when his body protested the movement.

"You know I give a hell of a massage."

Dean spun around so fast he almost lost his balance. When he saw the familiar blonde nurse standing in the doorway he relaxed and couldn't resist mirroring her smile.

"What a coincidence." Dean said with a smirk. "I happen to be excellent at receiving massages." He folded his arms across his chest and almost rolled his eyes at his own lame line.

Julia snorted and brushed past Dean to attend to Sam. "I think it's sweet that you're staying here with him." She said as she gently pushed a bit of loose hair away from Sam's eyes.

"He's my brother." Dean said simply, as if that fully explained any questions or concerns that Julia might have.

"Yeah." Julia wrote down some numbers from the monitors near Sam's bed and switched out the old IV bag with a fresh one. She turned and narrowed her eyes at Dean, as if she were studying him. "You know, you should get something to eat."

"Our uncle is going to be here later. I'll go then." Dean replied, remembering that he had told Kendall that Bobby was their uncle.

She folded her arms, imitating Dean's pose. "I can stay with Sam for a bit."

Dean couldn't help it, but he was instantly suspicious. Why did she want him to leave? Did she want to get Sam alone so she could hurt him? No, Julia was just trying to be nice. Dean studied the young nurse for a moment. Her smile was so genuine, it was hard to believe that she could hurt anyone. But that's how the good ones get you – they build your trust and then cut your legs out from under you when you least expect it.

The internal debate continued on for a few seconds longer, and Julia eventually cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

"Dean." She said with a snap of her fingers. "I think you should get some food. I'll stay here until you get back. Everything will be fine."

Dean nervously ran a hand through his hair – and god, he needed a shower too. Julia was looking at him expectantly, and his stomach growled loudly – casting it's vote to take Julia's offer and get some food. "He'll be okay." Dean said, mostly to reassure himself.

"Of course he will be." Julia looked a bit confused, but offered Dean an encouraging smile. "He probably wont even wake up."

Dean bit his lip and nodded. "Okay. I'll be right back."

Dean possibly set a new record for ordering and eating a meal, and when he rushed back into the room, Julia was sitting in what Dean had dubbed 'his chair' and humming happily, and Sam was still asleep. Dean exhaled audibly and Julia looked up at the noise.

"That was fast." She looked between Dean and Sam and looked like she wanted to say more, but decided against it. Instead she hopped up out of the chair and walked past Dean to the door, pausing in the doorway to turn and face the room. "You know, that chair really isn't very comfortable. How about I get you that bed." It wasn't a question, and Dean didn't answer. Julia turned and left the room.

In the afternoon, Julia came back to check on Sam and wake him up for his eye tests. She introduced herself to Sam – since he had been asleep every other time she had been in the room – and then carefully escorted him into a wheelchair with a little help from Dean. Sam bit his lip and held an arm over his broken ribs as he positioned himself in the chair, and Dean put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and pushed him out of the room. They followed Julia down the hall to an elevator, which they took up to the fourth floor, and finally stopped in front of a room labeled 'optometry'. In the center of the room was a chair surrounded by strange machines with dials and magnifying glass. Dean and Julia slowly helped Sam into the chair, and then Julia left them alone in the room with the promise that the doctor would be right in.

Dean watched his brother as he looked around the room and tried to focus on the objects surrounding him. Sam squinted in an attempt to see better, and Dean wondered suddenly what Sam was seeing. Shadows and shapes, he had described it as. Like a poorly lit room, too dark to make out any details. He took a seat in the chair adjacent to Sam's and tapped his thumbs impatiently against the cushioned arm rests.

"So your nurse, Julia." Dean said conversationally, and Sam turned his head toward him. "She's nice."

Sam wrinkled his face into a quizzical expression and frowned. "Sure. She seems nice."

Dean nodded and looked to his lap. Why was this weird? It was _Sam. _He tried again. "Sam, everything's gonna be okay... okay?"

Sam's expression softened and he also looked to his lap. "Yeah. Okay." He said softly, but his tone wasn't convincing anyone.

Dean was about to say more when the doctor knocked and a few seconds later entered the room. He was a thin Korean man with a pointy nose and a receding hair line. He ignored Dean and walked directly to Sam, taking a seat in the wheeled office chair and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fingertips, palms pressed together.

"Hello Sam, I'm Dr. Pahn." He said, and Dean heard no trace of an accent in his words. "I understand you're having some trouble with your vision. Let's take a look."

The optometrist pulled out a small flashlight and shined it in Sam's eyes, then gave him some eye drops meant to dilate his pupils. He looked at Sam's eyes through his machines and continuously changed the magnification levels. He made soft 'hmm' and 'uh huh' sounds, and Dean started to play with his bracelet nervously. The more time that passed, the more Dean was sure Sam's condition was going to be irreversible, and by the time Pahn finally straightened and pushed the machine out of Sam's face, Dean was about ready to shoot someone.

"Well, Sam." Pahn started, and Dean held his breath. "As I'm sure you know, your condition is being caused by the sodium hydroxide you ingested. You see, sometimes poisons can damage the optic nerve, causing sometimes permanent damage –"

Dean seriously wished he had his gun. He figured that this must be what TV show contestants feel like in finales when they just want to know who won the prize and the host drags it out. He forced himself to listen to what Pahn was saying.

"– call this optic atrophy. The main symptom is loss of vision. Sometimes colors may be washed out, or sometimes vision may appear blurry. In your case, signals to the retina are being blocked, causing your vision to be dark and lacking detail. Fortunately, I'm confident that your vision will improve with time, and eventually return to normal."

Dean and Sam both let out the breaths they were holding, and the doctor stood.

"In the mean time, I suggest protecting your eyes from bright light. Wear sunglasses outdoors. You're eyes will not know when they are getting too much light, and it could end up damaging them further." He brushed his palms on his pants and held out a hand for Sam to shake. It took Sam a minute to realize the doctor wanted a handshake, but he eventually offered his own hand in return.

"Thanks." He said, and Pahn nodded. He turned to Dean and nodded once more before leaving the room.

"See, man? I told you everything would be okay." Dean couldn't help the relief and excitement that overpowered him when Pahn announced that Sam's eyes would go back to normal, and by the looks of it, Sam was feeling pretty good about the news as well. He grinned at Dean, and even chatted with Julia as they helped him back into the wheelchair and brought him back to the room.

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><p>Three weeks passed slowly. On the third night, Julia had delivered on her promise and smuggled an extra bed into Sam's room for Dean to sleep in. She showed up early every morning to check Sam's vitals and write in his chart, and every morning when she came in the room Dean would wake up and flirt shamelessly with the young nurse. She started bringing Dean coffee, and Dean thanked her with crooked grins, witty jokes and classic Dean Winchester charm. Sam didn't sleep as much. Sometimes Dean would turn on the TV, despite the fact that Sam couldn't see the picture – he didn't seem to mind just listening. In the afternoons when it was nice out, Dean would load his brother into a wheelchair and bring him outside where they would walk through the garden or just sit on the patio. Of course Dean always made sure Sam wore his sunglasses outside, even when it was cloudy.<p>

Sam's vision was improving – incredibly slow, but improving nonetheless. Pahn said that he was still considered legally blind, but Sam told Dean how things seemed a bit more detailed and colorful every day. On the tenth day, Sam started physical therapy with Dr. Kendall. It was slow moving – Sam still had broken bones – but he seemed to look forward to the sessions, and Dean knew that every little step was progress. Every day, Julia would come in the late morning to escort Sam to his physical therapy sessions. Dean came along the first few times, but quickly realized that it was the only time Sam got away from him, and after a couple days he let Sam go alone. He took advantage of the hour – sometimes he ran down the block to Bobby's hotel and showered, sometimes he grabbed a bite to eat at the cafeteria, and sometimes he just took the Impala out for a drive around the town.

Bobby visited every day. He would always offer to stay with Sam and give Dean a night off, and Dean always refused. This wasn't a job. He wasn't saving up vacation hours and waiting for his nights off. Sam was his brother, and this was just the way things were now – for both of them. Though, sometimes Dean did leave Sam with Bobby, just for an hour, to go sit with Julia on her break. He had grown quite attached to the quirky blonde nurse, and though he flirted with her shamelessly, he thought of her more as a younger sister than someone he wanted a relationship with.

Of course, despite the positive outlook on everything, Sam and Dean both grew restless and impatient at times, and the topic of their father's last words came up often. It was never sorted out properly though, and usually ended with Sam clamming up refusing to talk until he eventually fell asleep, or Dean stomping off down the hall to get a cup of coffee and just sit away from Sam for a while. Each time they had the argument, Dean realized more and more that this needed to be sorted out calmly and thoroughly, without one of them opting out as soon as things got heated.

It was a rainy Tuesday when the conversation finally happened. Sam had made some snide remark and it had set things off. After a few minutes of pointless arguing that got them nowhere, Dean took a deep breath and instead of leaving for a cup of coffee, he sat down in the chair and rested his hand on the bed next to Sam's.

"Listen, Sammy." Dean said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I know I should have told you what Dad said, but I was trying to protect you."

Sam started to protest and Dean made a sharp noise to stop him.

"You _have _to know, Sam, that I would never –_ever_ – do anything to hurt you. Dad didn't know what was going to happen any more than we do. Maybe he had some leads that we don't know about, but the only reason he said that was because he didn't know. You know how Dad was. Revenge and the hunt came before everything – before us – before _family._" Dean paused for a moment and was happy when Sam didn't immediately start arguing. "But that doesn't mean he should have said what he said. He had no right, Sam. _No right. _You don't put that on your kids. Sammy, it doesn't matter what he said, because there's no way in hell I'm listening to him, and you shouldn't either."

Sam was quiet for a long moment, staring intently at the wall. Finally, he looked at Dean. "I don't need you to protect me." He said with a frown.

"I know. You can more than handle things yourself, but regardless, your my brother and... you know, I..." Dean fumbled over the words. They didn't usually show this kind of emotion, and Dean wasn't exactly comfortable with it.

"Yeah." Sam said, saving Dean from having to finish the sentence. "Me too."

The unspoken words said more than either of them could ever say out loud, and the words didn't need to be said for either of them to understand what the other was trying to say. They were brothers, and they always looked out for each other.

Julia came in to bring Sam to physical therapy before things got too post-chick-flick-moment awkward, and they both smiled at her when she entered the room.

"Hey Jules." Dean said affectionately, and Julia smiled at the nickname.

"Boys." She greeted them, and pushed the wheelchair to the edge of Sam's bed. At this point, Sam could walk if he wanted to, but not for long periods of time, and Julia didn't see the point in walking Sam to physical therapy where he would just be exerting himself even more. Dean immediately jumped up to help Sam into the chair. It had all become so routine, Dean almost didn't remember what life was like before Sam was hurt. While Sam was gone, Dean showered and grabbed a bite to eat.

After that, things were better between them. They talked more openly, though neither of them had much to talk about – being holed up in a hospital for the past three weeks. Still, it was nice to know there was no lingering animosity between them. Kendall was confident that Sam would be able to go home after two more weeks, and they were just waiting it out. Sam was still sore, but pain killers would help with that. He had limited energy, couldn't walk for long periods of time, and slept more than a normal, healthy person would. Bobby offered to let them stay with him for as long as it took Sam to recover fully, and Dean agreed. At Bobby's, Sam could rest as much as he needed and Dean could do physical therapy with him daily. Sam was up to eating soft foods. Apple sauce, yogurt, ice cream, and even cereal – if Dean let it sit in the milk long enough to make it soggy. Dean had been watching Julia carefully, keeping track in his mind of the things he would need to help Sam with once they were out of there.

On Thursday, an unfamiliar nurse came into Sam's room in time to bring him to physical therapy. Dean tensed and lowered his eyes suspiciously, but Sam smiled.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, trying to sound polite, but knowing that he failed.

The nurse looked surprised and almost sad at Dean's rudeness. "I'm Chelsea." She said shyly. She looked at Sam's charts for his name. "Mr. Page's regular nurse called in sick today. I'm filling in."

Dean eyed her and she squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze.

"Knock it off, Dean." Sam said, already starting to push himself to the edge of the bed and into the wheelchair. "It's fine." He smiled warmly at the new nurse. "Don't mind him. I'm Sam."

Chelsea relaxed and smiled back. "I'm just here to bring you to physical therapy." She explained, and Sam nodded.

"Maybe I should come with today." Dean suggested, and watched Chelsea for any sign of suspicious activity. She just smiled and waited for Sam's answer.

"It's _fine, _Dean." Sam said, sounding annoyed. "I got it."

Dean huffed and folded his arms, but sat back down in the chair to let Sam leave. "Fine, but when you get back we're watching Overhaulin' on TV."

Sam rolled his eyes and waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Yeah, fine." He said, and Dean watched the nurse wheel him out the door.

Bobby showed up while Sam was away, and Dean noticed the older hunter was tense and looked upset. "What's got you all worked up?" He asked. Bobby fidgeted and Dean knew whatever it was, it was bad. "Bobby, what?"

"Rufus called." Bobby met Dean's eyes. "Marcus has been spotted in town."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. "This town?" He croaked, but of course Bobby meant this town. They had been expecting this. When Bobby rescued them, Marcus got away with just a shot to the shoulder, and on top of that, his son Nick was now dead. Marcus would be out for blood, and he would be coming after Sam – it was just a matter of when and where.

"Sorry, boy." Bobby said.

Dean brought his fist to his mouth and bit at his knuckle nervously. "What are we going to do, Bobby? We can't just sit here and wait for–" Dean stopped as a thought occurred to him. He exhaled sharply and dropped his hand.

"What?" Bobby asked. "Dean?"

"Oh no." Dean felt lightheaded. "Sam!"

Dean tore out of the room and down the hall, almost knocking over a nurse pushing a tray of food. Bobby followed behind Dean, calling frantically after him, but Dean didn't have time to explain. How long had Sam been in physical therapy? Twenty minutes? Longer? That nurse – why hadn't Dean seen her around before? Oh god, he was so _stupid. _He should never have let Sam go with her alone.

Dean rounded a corner and slammed into a solid body, sending him stumbling backwards. He started to apologize but froze when he saw who it was.

"Doc?"

Kendall noticed the urgency in Dean's voice and titled his head, concerned. "Something wrong, Dean?"

Dean's mind was like a broken record. _Oh god, oh god, oh god _and _stupid, so stupid_. This confirmed it then. Sam was supposed to be in physical therapy with Kendall right at this moment, and yet here Kendall was standing in front of Dean with a confused look on his face. Still, Dean had to ask. "Get done early?" The words were barely a whisper, and he closed his eyes as he waited for an answer. Hoping against all odds that was the case – they just got done early. _Please._

"I'm sorry?" Kendall was looking more and more confused each minute.

"Sam." Dean snapped. "He's supposed to be with you _right now _in physical therapy."

Kendall looked taken aback and shook his head. "I... Sam didn't show up today. I was just coming to check on him."

Dean cursed loudly. Behind him, Bobby groaned.

"Is something–" Kendall started, but Dean was sprinting down the hall before he had a chance to finish, Bobby on his heels.

He approached the nurses station, where an older, dark haired woman looked up at him with frightened eyes. She looked like she was considering running away, and Dean supposed that he looked like he was ready to kill someone. He took a breath and tried to speak calmly.

"Julia. Is she in today?"

"I'm sorry." The woman said meekly. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Julia Ford!" Dean all but shouted, and the nurse flinched away. "Did she call in sick this morning?"

The woman typed into her computer while shooting Dean nervous glances. Finally she looked at him with a frown and said, "No, I'm sorry, she hasn't signed in today, and I have no record of her calling in."

Dean slammed his palms on the counter. "And nobody thought that was strange?"

The woman cowered, and Dean thought she had a damn good reason to be scared. If he didn't get some answers, he was going to shoot up the entire hospital.

"Dean." Bobby said from behind him, and Dean turned to face him.

"What are we going to do, Bobby?" Dean demanded, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. "I let him go. I let her take him. And now Marcus has got him, and we don't know where he is. What the _hell _are we going to do?"

"Just calm down–"

"Don't _tell _me to calm down! He's going to kill him!"

"Alright." Bobby said, raising his hands in surrender. "Let's just think about this a sec."

Dean breathed heavily and his mind raced for a solution. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to focus, but all he could think was _Sam's gone, Julia's missing, they both might be dead, Marcus has them, and I didn't even see which way–_ "Wait." He said as a thought occurred to him, and he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it sooner. "Security cameras. This hospital has security cameras, right?" He turned to the woman at the desk and she nodded hastily. Dean tapped Bobby's chest with the back of his hand. "Come on, we gotta check out the security footage."

He turned once more to the woman behind the desk. "Where can I see the tapes?"

She pointed down the hall, and Dean noticed that all the fear was gone from her face. She seemed excited to help. "Take the elevator to the basement. There's a security room there."

Dean didn't bother thanking her. He took off down the hall to the staircase – in too much of a hurry to wait for the elevator. The man in the security room insisted they call the police before they could see the footage, and Dean didn't have time to argue, so he knocked the guy out with one swift punch and lowered him gently to the floor. Bobby shot Dean a disapproving glance, but didn't say anything.

It was easy to find their floor and rewind the tape a half an hour to when the fake nurse took Sam out of the room, and Dean watched with clenched fists as Sam was wheeled out into the hallway. "There they are." He said to Bobby, and they watched as the fake nurse sneakily pulled her hand out of her pocket and stuck a needle into an unsuspecting Sam. Sam's head fell forward immediately and the woman wheeled him down the hall, nodding politely to other nurses as she passed.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked angrily, and switched to the parking ramp footage once Sam and the woman were out the door. Dean and Bobby watched as the woman brought Sam to a green van, and a man that Dean didn't recognize came around from the driver's side to help throw Sam into the back. Dean winced, knowing that his brother's ribs weren't fully healed, and the toss had to have done some damage. The two kidnappers left the wheelchair and pulled slowly out of the parking spot and onto the street.

"Damn it!" Dean yelled. "Nobody even questioned her!" He ran his hand across his face. "Bobby, can you take this tape and try to get the license plate number off that van?"

"I'm on it." Bobby answered, ejecting the tape and shoving it in his jacket. He turned to leave but paused at the door. "Don't do anything stupid, Dean. Call me if you get any leads. We're going to find him."

Dean nodded and didn't answer, and Bobby left. Not sure what to do next, Dean went to the parking lot and found Sam's wheelchair. He looked out into the bright sun and for a moment was caught up in an irrational fear that Sam's eyes would be damaged because he wasn't wearing sunglasses. He had to remind himself that there were more important issues at hand. "Where are you, Sammy?" He whispered to the empty parking space.

Just then, his phone rang. Dean looked at the caller ID – unknown. He flipped the phone open immediately and put it to his ear without saying a word.

"Hello, Dean." A familiar, deep voice said through the speaker. "It's so nice to talk to you again." The sound sent chills down Dean's back, and he gripped the phone tighter until it was in danger of being crushed from the pressure.

Dean kicked the wheelchair in frustration and lowered his voice threateningly. "Marcus."

Marcus laughed. In the background, Dean heard someone scream.

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><p><strong>Sorry for the cliffhanger! I hope things are getting exciting again. Remember, reviews make me want to get the next chapter up sooner! ;)<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! Once again, thank you SO SO much to everyone who is reading this and reviewing and following the story. This is my first fic and you guys are really making it fun to write. I love you! Enjoy.**

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><p><em><strong>Then<strong>_

_Just then, his phone rang. Dean looked at the caller ID – unknown. He flipped the phone open immediately and put it to his ear without saying a word._

_"Hello, Dean." A familiar, deep voice said through the speaker. "It's so nice to talk to you again." The sound sent chills down Dean's back, and he gripped the phone tighter until it was in danger of being crushed from the pressure._

_Dean kicked the wheelchair in frustration and lowered his voice threateningly. "Marcus."_

_Marcus laughed. In the background, Dean heard someone scream._

_**Now**_

"Damn it, Marcus. If you hurt him–"

"Now, now, Dean." Marcus interrupted. "Doesn't this sound a little familiar to you? I know, if I so much as lay a finger on his pretty head, you'll kill me."

"I'm glad we understand each other." Dean growled. Another scream. It wasn't Sam. It was female – Julia then? And damn it, why did Marcus have to drag her into this?

"Now listen." Marcus' tone held no trace of the playfulness it had carried a moment before. "I've got your brother, and I've got your girlfriend. Pretty little Julia is going to be at Filmore Park at noon. That's in one hour, Dean. You need to be there, and you need to be alone. If anyone else is with you, or if you're one minute late, they _both _die. You want to repeat that back to me?"

"Filmore park at noon." Dean said through clenched teeth.

"I'm glad we understand each other." Marcus mocked bitterly, and hung up.

Dean almost threw the phone to the ground. Instead, he kicked the wheelchair again and cursed, going over his options in his head – but he didn't really have an option, did he? He didn't know where Marcus had Sam, and he couldn't let him kill Julia. He flipped open the phone and dialed Bobby's number.

Bobby picked up on the first ring. "You got something?"

"He wants me to meet him at a park in an an hour to get Julia back."

"What park? I'll meet you–"

"No. He said I have to come alone... or he's going to kill them both."

"Dean," Bobby protested. "If he gets a chance, he's going to kill Sam either way."

"You think I don't know that?" Dean snapped. "I was there in that warehouse, Bobby. I _know _what he wants. I just need you to be ready. I'm gonna find out where he has Sam, and you've got to be ready to go. I don't know how quick I'll be able to get there once I have Julia."

"I'll be ready." Bobby promised, and Dean snapped the phone shut.

Forty-five minutes later, he was in Filmore Park, sitting on a white bench underneath an oak tree. He eyed every person suspiciously as they walked past him on the path or tossed a ball to their dog in the grass. A woman at the playground noticed him and rounded up her two children, shooting him angry glances as she loaded them into her car. _Great_, Dean thought, _last thing we need is the cops showing up. _But maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing – he couldn't be sure. After considering it for a moment longer, he decided that cops were _always _a bad thing.

Dean checked the time on his cell – five minutes to noon. He shoved the phone into his pocket and fingered the gun tucked into his waistband, taking comfort in the feeling of the cool metal against his skin. Nothing was going to happen to Sam _or _Julia, he was going to make _damn sure _of that.

After a few minutes, Dean started to worry. Shouldn't they be here by now? What if he missed them? Just then, a familiar green van pulled into the parking lot and parked nearby. Dean jumped up and watched as the passenger window was rolled down. The same fake-nurse woman who had taken Sam smiled at him from the driver's seat. She gestured for Dean to join her in the van, and Dean narrowed his eyes as he climbed in the seat next to her.

"Chelsea, was it?" Dean glanced over his shoulder. Julia was in the back with her hands tied behind her and a gag in her mouth. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She looked so small and scared, and Dean instantly felt guilty for getting her mixed up in this. He met her eyes and gave her a reassuring look.

Next to him, the woman laughed. A high pitched, nails-on-chalkboard sound. "It was."

Den shrugged dramatically. "So now what?" He asked, starting to get annoyed. Every minute that passed was another minute he didn't have Sam back.

"Oh, come on, Dean. Don't be like that." Chelsea leaned closer to Dean, the top her low-cut shirt revealed just a bit more than was appropriate, and she raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Dean scooted closer to the door, away from Chelsea. "Where's Sam?"

Chelsea smirked and ran her tongue across her upper lip. "I'm not sure, Dean, but I think we could work something out."

She was stalling. They knew that Dean wouldn't let Julia die, and while he was busy coming to her rescue, Marcus was free to do with Sam whatever he pleased, knowing Dean wouldn't be there to stop him. He thought about what Sam could possibly be going through right at that moment – he could be _dead. _The thought was like a punch to the stomach. Any plans or precautions that Dean might have had went out the window. In one swift motion he pulled out his gun, switched off the safety and pointed it at Chelsea's head.

"Where. Is. My brother?" He growled, slow and dangerous, and Chelsea actually looked surprised. Hadn't she expected him to have a weapon? Of course she had, Dean thought, she had just expected a bit more time before things got violent.

Chelsea raised her hands defensively. "I don't–" Dean cocked the gun and Chelsea flinched. "I _can't_..."

"You better rethink that answer." Dean threatened.

Chelsea exhaled sharply. "Okay, okay. Marcus has him. There's some storage sheds on the corner of 8th and Jefferson. He's there."

Dean narrowed his eyes. He didn't think she was lying, but he couldn't be sure. Either way, he figured he didn't have any other choice than to listen to her. In the back of the van, Julia was crying again. Dean risked a glance over his shoulder and immediately regretted it when Chelsea drove her fist into his stomach. It wasn't a hard punch, but she moved so quickly it caught Dean off guard. He recoiled, bringing both hands to his middle, and Chelsea reached out with quick reflexes and brought her fist down on the back of Dean's wrist. He fumbled and the gun fell to the floor between them. For a split second they met eyes, and then they were both scrambling for the weapon. Chelsea got her hand on it first, and when Dean tried to pull it away the gun fired. The unexpected noise made Dean jump, but he wasn't hit.

At that point, Dean wasn't against hitting a girl. Hell, a second ago he was thinking about shooting her. One hand still wrestling for the gun, he brought his other fist up blindly. It made contact with Chelsea's face, and her grip on the gun weakened for a second. Dean pulled it back to his chest and aimed at Chelsea. This time, he braced himself as he quickly glanced at Julia to see if she was hurt. She started back at him with wide, scared eyes, but she was okay physically. Dean noticed people outside looking curiously at the van, a couple park-goers had their cell phones out, naturally calling the police after hearing a gunshot.

"Damn it." Dean hissed. He looked at Chelsea over the barrel of the gun and quickly considered his options. He could kill the girl – after all, she _had_ kidnapped Sam, and none of this was going to be over until Marcus and everyone on his team was dead. On the other hand, she was just a girl – maybe twenty five years old. It wasn't in his nature to kill humans, even if they were a threat. Whatever he did, he needed to do it fast. The cops would be there any minute, and then Dean would have to go through hell before they would help him find Sam – _if_ they even did. More likely, he would end up in jail and Sam would end up dead. Again he cocked the gun, and then Chelsea started crying, and he couldn't bring himself to kill her. "You listen to me." He said quickly, but with a tinge of hatred and danger that let Chelsea know he wasn't messing around. "If I ever – _ever – _see you near my brother again, I will not hesitate to kill you."

Chelsea nodded quickly, and Dean brought the butt of the gun down against her head, knocking her out. Julia made a soft whimpering noise and Dean quickly pulled out a knife and cut the rope that was tying her hands. She pulled the handkerchief gag out of her mouth. "Oh my god, Dean." She stammered through her tears.

"Julia." Dean snapped. "We have to go. _Now_." A small crowd was beginning to form at the edge of the grass and Dean looked desperately for a path to his car that would allow him to remain, for the most part, unseen. "Damn it." He said again when he saw no such path was available.

Out of options, he tucked the gun back into his jeans and stepped out of the van, rushing to Julia's door and pulling her out as well. She didn't resist, and Dean held her hand as he pulled her along behind him to the Impala. The crowd murmured. Someone yelled at them to stop, and someone else stepped front of them to block their path. Dean tried to sidestep, but the man put up his arms to catch Dean, and Dean did _not _have time for this. He pulled the gun out again and the man quickly stepped aside. They tore out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. In the distance, Dean could hear sirens.

As soon as they were a safe distance away and Dean was sure they weren't being followed, he slowed to a non-suspicious speed and pulled out his cell. Bobby answered immediately and Dean gave him the address. "I'll be there soon." He promised.

After he hung up, he shot Julia a side glance. She was quiet, but Dean could see the tears on her cheek. "Hey." He said as gently as he could manage. "You okay?"

She sniffed and nodded. Julia didn't know the real reason Sam had been in the hospital, and she was blissfully unaware of the existence of monsters, ghosts and demons. As far as she was concerned, Dean was a mechanic and Sam was in college. They were on a road trip when someone had broken into their hotel room tried to kill Sam after they robbed him. It wasn't an air-tight story, but Julia never asked for more details. If she had, Dean was sure he could have come up with something believable.

"Who was she?" Julia sniffled.

Dean considered lying, but after what Julia had been through she deserved to know the risks involved in associating with Winchesters. "There are some bad people that want to hurt Sam." He answered simply. It was a pretty vague version of the truth, but he wasn't about to get into demons and hunting with the girl.

"Is that how he ended up in the hospital before?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

Julia didn't speak for a long while, and then finally she said, "Why?"

Dean marveled at her innocence. Sometimes he forgot that, outside the world of hunting, there were normal people who lived normal lives and didn't nearly die on a regular basis. "Someone died, and they blame us for it."

Julia hesitated. She looked scared, but something compelled her to ask. "Did you do it?"

"No." Dean snapped, and that was the end of the conversation. They were back at the hospital. Dean told Julia to have Kendall take a look at her, and then shooed her out of the car.

"Are you coming back?" She whispered.

"No." Dean set his jaw and sped away without looking back.

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><p>Dean raced toward the storage sheds where he prayed Sam would be. If Chelsea was lying she had better find a damn good place to hide, because Dean was going to hunt her down, and this time he wouldn't be so generous with her life. Halfway to the sheds, his phone rang. He answered and heard Bobby's voice through the line.<p>

"I got him." Bobby said, and Dean felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders.

"Thank god." He breathed. "Is he okay?"

"He's just fine. A little bruised from being tossed around, but they didn't hurt him."

And okay, that was weird, but Dean couldn't be bothered to wonder about the hows and whys. Sam wasn't hurt. It was more than he had dared to hope for.

"Hey, Dean." Sam's voice came over the phone, and Dean felt his throat tighten.

"Hey, Sammy." He croaked. "You alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I'll be there in a minute." Dean promised.

"Okay." Sam answered, and hung up the phone.

When Dean pulled into the parking lot at the storage place, Sam was sitting in the passenger seat of Bobby's truck with the door open and his legs hanging over the side, and Bobby was leaning against the truck bed next to him. Dean rushed to Sam and assessed his brother's condition. Despite Bobby and Sam assuring him that Sam was fine, he was still a bit surprised and a lot relieved when he saw it for himself.

"I'm okay." Sam said, shoving Dean's arms away, and Dean pulled his hands back and ran them through his hair. It was almost too good to believe. Marcus had Sam for hours – he had every opportunity.

"Did you get Marcus?" Dean lowered his voice and asked Bobby.

"He wasn't here." Bobby said with a worried frown.

"What do you mean he wasn't here?"

"I mean Sam was here and Marcus wasn't."

It didn't make sense. Something was off, Dean was sure of it, but for now his only concern was getting Sam back to Bobby's. "C'mon." He said, hooking his arm under Sam's and hoisting him up, helping him back to the impala.

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><p>The entire way to Bobby's, Dean kept shooting worried glances at Sam, who was now asleep in the passenger seat next to him. Now that he had time to calm down and think about it, he realized just how strange it was that Sam wasn't hurt. Dean tried to put it together in his head and no matter how he arranged the facts, they still didn't make sense. He watched Sam out of his peripheral vision, almost expecting him to disappear or explode or <em>something<em>. It just didn't add up.

At Bobby's, Sam was awake just long enough to get to the house and into bed. They had decided against a hospital – Dean felt that he could keep Sam safer at Bobby's – but he was well aware that there were things Sam needed that Bobby didn't have. The most important, Dean thought, being the medicine Sam had been getting through an IV for the past three weeks. Though Sam seemed okay, that medicine was still working against the poison, making sure Sam _stayed _okay. Bobby had an IV machine, but they would need to get their hands on the IV bags and the medicine – and while they were at it, the vitamins Sam needed. Eventually he would take them orally, in pill form, but as long as he was still on the IV it was just easier to go that route. That way, Dean could give Sam the vitamins on schedule without having to wake him up if he were asleep. Dean knew the names of everything he needed, they just had to make a trip to the hospital sometime soon and get some. Dean watched Sam wince in his sleep and unconsciously place an arm over his ribs. It would have to be tonight. He mentally added morphine to the list, and a wheelchair would be handy too.

Dean sat with Sam for the rest of the day until the sun was low in the sky. He was waiting for something to happen, and he knew something _would _happen, he just didn't know what or when, and that made him feel pretty helpless. Around 7, Bobby brought him chili which he ate a few bites of then set aside, adding yogurt, ice cream, cereal, and apple sauce to the list he was compiling in his head. Food for Sam, soft and cold. Once the sun had set completely, he headed downstairs to the kitchen where Bobby was reading a book.

"We gotta get some stuff from the hospital for Sam."

Bobby nodded and looked at Dean over the book. "Yeah. Been thinking that too."

"One of us has to stay here." Dean knew both of them were perfectly capable of lifting the supplies they needed from a hospital without getting caught. They were also both capable of taking care of Sam, but Dean wanted to let Bobby make the choice. He had done so much for them already.

"I'll get the stuff." Bobby said, and they spent the next ten minutes going over what Sam would need, writing down the items so nothing would be forgotten.

Once they were confident they had thought of everything, Dean thanked Bobby again and watched him leave before heading back upstairs to Sam. "It's okay, Sammy." He said to his sleeping brother. Sam didn't hear him, but the words were more for himself anyway. And even though _he_ was the one who spoke them, he didn't believe it. Nothing was going to be okay until Marcus was dead.

Dean's phone rang. Julia's name flashed across the front of the screen. He moved into the hallway so he wouldn't wake Sam and answered. "You alright?"

"I'm fine, Dean, where are you guys? I can come. I can help–"

"No." Dean interrupted. He'd already gotten Julia kidnapped – she could have died. He was done endangering innocent civilians just by knowing them. "No, Julia, you've done more than enough."

"But Sam's medicine." Julia objected. "And his vitamins."

"I got it."

"The physical therapy." Julia tried.

"I can do that, too." Dean insisted.

"He can't eat anything hot. Only soft food for now, and he needs to get enough rest, and–"

"Jules. I got it." Dean said, a little too harshly, then added softly. "Thank you."

Julia started to protest again, but Dean hung up the phone. When she called back a minute later he ignored the call. From the hallway, Dean heard Sam groan. He entered the room to find Sam blinking at the ceiling.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, because the look on Sam's face said he wasn't. Sudden panic overtook Dean and he rushed to Sam, hesitating, unsure of what was wrong and where to touch.

"I can't see anything." Sam said, worried.

Dean looked around the room. The lights were off and Dean himself couldn't see much, so it made sense that Sam could see even less. Dean sighed, relieved. "That's because it's dark in here, dork." He teased, and hit the switch for the lamp by the bed. The room filled with a soft light and Sam blinked again, focusing on Dean. "That better?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"You still feeling okay?"

Sam scrunched up his face a little. "Ribs hurt." He said.

"Bobby's at the hospital now getting supplies." Dean said. "You need anything? A drink of water? Are you hungry?"

Sam shook his head and absently scratched at the edge of the cast on his wrist. "I'm fine."

Dean hoped that it was true. Sam didn't look tired anymore, and Dean figured now was as good of a time as any to talk about the day. "What happened, do you remember?"

Sam's face turned thoughtful, then he answered, "I don't remember much. I remember the nurse coming to get me. The next thing I knew I was in that shed, and it was only fifteen minutes after that when Bobby showed up. I didn't even _see_ Marcus."

Dean considered that. What game was Marcus playing? "You sure you feel okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam assured him.

Bobby came back three hours later with all the supplies and a couple grocery bags full of soft food. They hooked Sam up to the IV and Dean gave him his medicine, vitamins, and finally some morphine. He practically had to force feed a bit of yogurt to Sam, just so he would eat something – and then the morphine kicked in and Sam was asleep again. Dean took a much needed shower and the hot water relaxed his muscles. For a little while, he felt safe – finally at Bobby's where they had an arsenal of weapons at their fingertips if Marcus decided to show up again – or anybody else for that matter. Back in the room, Sam was still asleep, his face calm and relaxed, the morphine blocking out the pain.

Dean slipped into a pair of sweatpants and crawled into the sheets of the twin bed on the other side of the room. He stared up at the ceiling and had a strange sense that they were kids again, just spending the night at Bobby's while Dad was away on a hunt. Tomorrow he would help Sammy with his homework, and then Dad would come home and maybe they would barbecue and do some target practice. Exhausted, Dean quickly drifted off into a world with no monsters and no crazy hunters trying to kill them. A world where it was just him and Sam on a road trip across the US, with nothing to worry about except how many miles until the next gas station. And in those few blissful moments just before sleep, he let himself believe it.

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><p><strong>Blah, I feel like that was an awkward place to end the chapter, but I just couldn't seem to figure out a good way to do it! I hope it's okay. What is Marcus planning? Hmm... I'm already working on the next chapter. Please review! Thank you!<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm sorry! I didn't pay my internet bill and so, consequently, didn't have internet for a few days. Otherwise this would have been up sooner. **

**Anyway, thanks again to every single one of you reading this! **

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><p>The first time it happened, Dean wasn't sure exactly what <em>it<em> was – if anything at all. It was late morning, the day after the events at the hospital and the storage shed. Dean and Sam were in Bobby's kitchen eating breakfast. Sam's portable IV stood next to him with the clear plastic tubes running into his arm. Dean had a bowl of cereal – he had considered bacon and eggs, but decided against it since Sam couldn't have any – and Sam was eating another single-serving carton of yogurt. Though, scooping up spoonfuls and letting the yogurt plop back into the carton would be a more accurate description of what Sam was doing.

Dean was concerned with Sam's lack of appetite, but it wasn't the first thing on his mind. After all, Sam would eat the yogurt either way. Dean would make sure of that. The more troubling issue was still the fact that Sam had been kidnapped – apparently for no reason – and Marcus was still out there.

Sam was in the middle of eying a spoonful of yogurt – possibly deciding weather or not the thick, strawberry flavored goop was worth putting into his mouth – when he dropped the spoon to the table with a clank. The sound alerted Dean and he looked up to his brother who was staring straight ahead, eyes unfocused.

"Sam?" Dean asked cautiously.

Sam didn't seem to hear him. His body swayed, and for a moment Dean thought Sam was going to fall out of his chair, but he righted himself and went back to staring at the wall.

"Hey." Dean was at Sam's side in a second, crouching beside him, his hand on Sam's shoulder for extra support. "Sam. Sam?"

When Sam didn't respond, Dean shook him and Sam gasped as though he hadn't been breathing and was finally able to take in the air that he needed. He blinked rapidly and turned his head to Dean.

"Hey." Sam breathed.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded and picked up the spoon, resumed playing with his breakfast like nothing had happened.

Dean stayed frozen by his brother's side for a moment, then went back to his end of the table and finished his breakfast, not taking his eyes off Sam – not even for a second.

* * *

><p>The second time it happened, Dean <em>knew<em> something was wrong. This time, they were sitting in the living room, Sam on the couch, when Sam's body jerked violently and his muscles tensed. Once again he stared, unfocused, at nothing. Dean checked Sam's breathing and was horrified when he felt no air from his brother's nose.

"Sam!" Dean was more frantic this time as he shook Sam's shoulders vigorously, hoping for a response. None came, and after a few seconds Dean began to panic. The first attack had only lasted seconds, this one was nearing a minute.

Sam's body began to convulse, and Dean slapped him – hard. Again Sam gasped in a breath of air and brought a hand up to his stinging cheek, focusing his eyes on Dean.

"What the _hell, _Sam?" Dean demanded, but Sam was too busy breathing to answer.

* * *

><p>Bobby scoured the internet for a diagnosis, medical or supernatural, but found nothing that matched Sam's symptoms. Dean watched Sam like a hawk, ready to – well, ready to do <em>something <em>if it happened again.

And it did happen again – twelve hours after the first time. Sam had just fallen asleep and Dean was laying in his bed staring at the ceiling, too worried to sleep. He heard a small gasp and then the squeaking of Sam's mattress as his body shook. Dean was there in a second, shaking Sam and saying "_please" _and "_Sam" _and "_snap out of it! ." _He even slapped Sam again, but it had little effect.

Thankfully, Sam started breathing again after a minute, but his body was still tense and twitching, his breath coming in short gasps. Three minutes it lasted this time, and then Sam's body relaxed and his breathing returned to normal.

"Sammy?" Dean rasped, and he pushed a strand of hair away from Sam's forehead. Sam didn't respond – he was unconscious.

Dean didn't sleep that night. It happened once more before morning.

* * *

><p>The next morning when Dean's phone rang and the word 'unknown' flashed across the screen, he opened it and snapped "<em>what?<em>", too worn out from lack of sleep and worry to care much about manners. As it turned out, he didn't need the manners, because the voice that answered made Dean clench his jaw and grip the table by Sam's bed so hard that his knuckles turned white and his arm shook.

"Hi again, Dean." Marcus' voice was light and playful. Dean could almost hear the smirk behind the words.

"What did you do to him?" Dean demanded.

"Now why do you think I did anything to your brother?"

"Don't mess around, Marcus." Dean warned. "_Tell me _what you did."

Marcus gave an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, I suppose that _is _why I called. Remember when I told you about my son and how your daddy killed him?"

"My dad didn't kill your son." Dean growled. "He _hung _himself."

"But it was John's fault." Marcus snapped back. "And now Nick's gone. I have nobody left, and I intend to have my revenge."

"Sam didn't do anything to you!" Dean shouted, crazy with anger. "Your son killed himself and Nick was killed in self defense! Because you _kidnapped_ us and _tortured _Sam."

Marcus clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "When you put it that way it sounds so bad."

Dean opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again. Arguing with Marcus was like trying to communicate with a child who was having a tantrum. Marcus wanted to tell Dean what was wrong with Sam, Dean just had to shut his mouth and let him talk.

When Dean didn't say anything, Marcus continued. "Anyway, I have to kill Sam – you know, the demon thing – but after seeing you in that warehouse, I have to say – I think the best way to get at you, Dean, is to make you watch your brother _die_." He emphasized the last word and it burned like fire in Dean's stomach. "That's why I couldn't kill him yesterday. Where would be the fun in that?"

"You son of a bitch, what did you do to him? I'll kill you!"

"I missed this." Marcus joked. "I almost forgot what it was like to have you insult my mother and threaten my life in the same breath." Marcus sighed. "I gave your brother a potion."

"A potion." Dean repeated. "A witch's potion?"

"Yes, Dean, a witch's potion." Marcus gave an impatient sigh. "I had it made special. Just for Sam."

Dean tried to hide his sudden fear. Witches were bad news. Spells, hexes, potions, curses – nothing that witches did was by the book because each witch had their own way of doing things, and that sometimes made it pretty difficult to fix a spell that had already been cast, or a potion that had already been administered. If you looked hard enough, or knew a good witch, you could always find a counter potion, but Dean didn't know any witches and he wasn't sure he had the time to look for an antidote. He didn't know what exactly the potion did or how fast it worked, but he did know the attacks were lasting longer each time, and that Marcus' intention was to kill Sam.

A list of demands ran through Dean's head. _Tell me what it does, _or _give me an antidote, _or _tell me the witch's name, _or _fix him_, but Dean didn't voice any of them because Marcus wasn't interested in giving Dean a chance, he only wanted the satisfaction of knowing he had won.

"Go to hell." Dean said instead.

Marcus chuckled. "Tell Sammy hi for me. I expect the next few days won't be too much fun. And Dean, I'll see you when it's all over."

There was a soft click and then silence. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. After a second, he shouted a curse and threw his phone to the ground. It bounced slightly and snapped shut, luckily not breaking. Dean retrieved the phone from the floor and went back to his brother – always back to Sam.

* * *

><p>It happened twice more before noon, and Dean tried to deny the fact that the attacks were happening more often and lasting longer each time, but when the latest attack lasted a little over five minutes, Dean had to accept that this was happening and something needed to be done about it. Surely Sam wouldn't be able to handle this much longer. The potion was meant to kill slowly, and that's just what it was doing. The attacks started with Sam's muscles seizing up and his lungs refusing to work, and ended with Sam having some sort of seizure – his body shook uncontrollably, his breaths came in short gasps and he clenched his jaw and grunted against the pain. Dean began timing the distance between attacks, and figured it had started with approximately six hours between and was now down to five.<p>

At four o'clock, they were upstairs in the bedroom that they shared. The radio was on for Sam, but he was too busy asking Dean to read out loud to listen to the classic rock that was playing from the speakers. Dean was sitting on his own bed on the opposite end of the room reading one of Bobby's books about witches and potions, and he would occasionally read a paragraph or two out loud for Sam – whose eyes were improving, but still not well enough to read the small print on a book page.

It started like it always did. Sam's body tensed and he made a noise like he had been punched in the stomach. Dean rushed to his side and felt for breathing – none. Sam's eyes were dazed, pupils huge and black, staring ahead at nothing. Dean grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed.

"It's okay, Sammy." He said in the same voice he had used with Sam when he was young and had gotten hurt. "Just breathe. It's gonna be okay."

Dean checked the clock. If this time followed pattern, it would last a little over five minutes. It had already been thirty seconds, and Dean waited for the minute mark – when Sam always started breathing again. A minute came and passed and Sam still wasn't breathing. Dean's eyes widened and he shook his brother's hand, panicked.

"Sam!"

Sam blinked a couple times and focused on Dean. His eyes were pained and pleading, but he still wasn't breathing. His back arched as he tried to draw in a breath.

"Bobby!" Dean shouted. Bobby was there in a matter of seconds and Dean was murmuring "Come on, Sammy, come on. Breathe. Just breathe."

"Dean?" Bobby asked, unsure of what to do.

"It's been almost two minutes." Dean said checking the clock. "And he's still not breathing. Sam!"

Sam's eyes looked through Dean and his eyelids drooped slightly. His mouth opened and closed in a futile attempt to breathe, and his body jerked as the potion did it's job. His eyes fluttered closed.

"Damn it. Sam!" Dean shook Sam's shoulders, but it had little effect other than to add to his brother's already shaking body.

"Bobby!" Dean pleaded desperately.

"Okay, boy." Bobby knelt beside Sam and felt for breathing. Feeling nothing, he moved to Sam's neck to feel his pulse. It was fast, but still strong. Bobby didn't know what to do any more than Dean did, but Dean was looking at him with such expectancy that Bobby had to do _something. _"Can you hear me, son?" He asked, and Sam threw his head back and jerked violently.

"Sammy, please." Dean whispered.

Sam suddenly let out a groan of pain and then gasped in a long, noisy breath. Dean felt like he would collapse from the relief of it. Sam jerked and shook and Dean knew he was in pain, but he was _breathing. _He squeezed Sam's hand tighter. The shaking slowed and eventually stopped altogether, leaving Sam limp, unconscious, and panting. Dean bit his lip to control his emotions.

"What are we going to do, Bobby? Marcus said a couple days. I don't know if he'll even last that long."

"We keep lookin'." Bobby answered softly, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "And we pray that we find something in time."

Dean nodded and dropped his chin to his chest, worry and exhaustion sweeping over him and making his eyes heavy and his muscles ache. At the rate the potion was working, Dean wasn't sure Sam would even make it another day. Dean sure wouldn't. If the exhaustion didn't get him, the worry surely would. They didn't have time to be searching through books. Bobby might not even have the right one, hell, it probably didn't even exist. What would it be called? _How To Reverse a Witch's Potion When You Don't Even Know What The Potion Is, _or maybe _How To Save Your Brother From a Crazy Ex-Hunter Out For Revenge, _or better yet, _How To Be a Better Big Brother and Not Get Sam Into These Situations In The First Place. _If a book like that existed, Dean would be all over it. The fact was, they had no idea what they were doing. Searching blindly through whatever text they could find wasn't going to save Sam. They needed something different – a new plan, or Sam wasn't going to make it.

"No." Dean said suddenly, and Bobby paused in the doorway.

"What?"

"No." Dean repeated louder. He knew the definition of insanity, and looking through book after book expecting to find an answer just might fit the category. If they wanted to save Sam, they needed to take things to another level – to Marcus' level. "A witch."

"Sorry?" Bobby tilted his head and looked genuinely confused – or maybe concerned. Maybe Dean was already insane. Did people know when they were insane, or did they go about their day thinking everything was normal?

"A witch, Bobby. We need to find a witch. We're not going to find anything in these damn books, but if we found a witch we could get a counter-potion made." It sounded perfect in his head, and Dean almost expected Bobby to snap his fingers like, _well, duh! Why didn't I think of that?_

"You want to work with a witch." The look Bobby gave him made Dean think he really had gone insane. "There are a dozen reasons why this is a bad idea."

Dean only needed one reason, and he had it. He needed to save Sam. "I don't care. I need to fix this."

"Dean, witches are sneaky. They can't be trusted. They could give Sam something that would make him worse, or–"

"We have to _try, _Bobby. I'm not going to let him die."

Bobby considered it for a moment and Dean waited. He was going to do it either way, it would just be nice to have Bobby backing him up. "Okay." Bobby said finally with a shrug that suggested there had never been any other choice. If anyone understood the lengths Dean would go to help his brother, it was Bobby. "Let me look through my contacts. I'll find us a witch."

"Thanks." Dean was filled with a new sense of determination. That unwavering sense when an actual plan was formed that _this is right. This is going to work. _

Dean sighed heavily and looked at Sam's face. It was peaceful now that the attack was over, and Dean thought it was almost hard to believe that this thing was happening to them. Why couldn't they ever catch a break? Glancing at the clock, Dean noted that it had been only ten minutes since the last attack. They should have _at least _four hours until the next one – maybe five if they were lucky. Bobby was finding a witch, and Sam was asleep. Despite everything that had happened – everything that was _happening – _Dean felt a strange sense of peacefulness. Maybe it was just his overly-tired brain clouding up and blocking out reality, but Dean _knew _everything would be fine. Sam wouldn't die. How could he? It just wasn't possible.

Dean fell asleep in the chair next to Sam's bed, hunched over his unconscious brother with his hand wrapped securely around Sam's. "It's okay, Sammy." He mumbled just before sleep overtook him. "Don't worry. I'm gonna fix this."

* * *

><p><strong>Seriously, does anyone else have a hard time ending chapters? That's gotta be the hardest part – finding an okay place to end. I don't know what I'm going to do when it's time to end the story. Maybe I'll just go on forever. ;) Just kidding, I wouldn't put you guys through that! <strong>

**Okay, please review! :D **


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello again! Well, I had this chapter partially written already when I posted the last chapter, and since I made you wait so long last time I figured why not get this one up right away. I hope you enjoy. Thank you all so so much for reading and reviewing!**

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><p>Dean woke with a start. He quickly realized that he had been sleeping in the chair next to Sam's bed with his body hunched forward awkwardly and his head resting on the mattress next to Sam's shoulder. He straightened his back and winced when the muscles in his shoulders protested the movement. As he blinked away sleep, he suddenly realized that something had woken him up. His first thought was that Sam was having another attack. How long had he been asleep? Sam appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but Dean checked his breathing just in case. He relaxed when he felt small puffs of air from Sam's nose and saw the steady rise and fall of his chest.<p>

Dean rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and looked around the room. It was dark. The red, glowing light from the alarm clock read 8:15. Sam had less than an hour then until it happened again. Doing the math in his head, and giving Sam five hours in between attacks just to keep some sort of optimism, Dean figured that Sam would only have to suffer through three more attacks before noon tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, they would have a lead and would be able to set their plan in motion. _Only three_, Dean thought with a disgusted snort, _since when was that a good thing? _

Sam groaned softly and turned his head, and Dean realized what had woken him. He watched as Sam's eyes fluttered and hoped that Sam was waking up, and it wasn't just the potion preparing for another attack. Though, maybe waking up wasn't the best thing at the moment, with less than an hour on the clock. Maybe it was better if Sam were asleep when the attacks happened. Dean didn't know for sure if it actually made any difference, if it saved Sam from any pain, but he decided that either way, it would be good if Sam could get some food in him.

Sam blinked lazily and opened his eyes to the ceiling. Dean flipped on the lamp on the night-stand, and Sam rolled his eyes toward Dean.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean said softly.

"Hey." Sam replied, and twisted his face into an expression that Dean thought could only mean pain.

"What's wrong?" And if that wasn't the stupidest question ever. _What's wrong. _Oh, nothing much, except the fact that Sam's been kidnapped, tortured, poisoned, hospitalized for weeks, kidnapped again, and was now fighting for his life against some witch's potion while his incompetent brother was trying to find some way to save him. _So stupid. _

But Sam didn't say any of that. He winced for a moment, then finally admitted, "Hurts."

Dean was amazed at how one simple word could cut him so deep. "Where does it hurt?" He asked.

Sam tilted his head to one side and rolled his shoulders as if he were trying to determine that himself. Finally, he frowned and relaxed back against the pillow. "Everywhere."

Dean felt his shoulders slump. Hell, he felt his _soul _slump – if that was possible. A sense of helplessness washed over him and he briefly wondered just what the hell he had been so optimistic about a few hours ago. Find a witch to make them a counter-potion? That was his master plan? Bobby was right, it was stupid, and it was probably going to end up doing them more harm then good – but what choice did he have?

"Okay." Dean said dumbly, and pushed some morphine into Sam's IV.

After a short while, Sam's eyelids began to get heavy – an effect that morphine always seemed to have on him – and he blinked as he tried to stay conscious.

"Dean?" Sam's speech was mumbled and slow.

"Yeah, Sam."

Sam took a shaky breath. "Why don't you just let me die?"

Dean's breath caught in his throat. The worst part was the sincerity that Dean could hear in the question. It wasn't just a stubborn attempt to prove that he didn't need Dean wasting time worrying over him, Sam genuinely wanted to know why he couldn't just die. Why wouldn't Dean just let him go in peace? Hell, maybe even help him along quicker, save him from prolonged suffering.

"Don't say that, Sam." Dean said sternly. Then, as if a wall had broken, emotion came flooding in and he squeaked out the words in a voice that would have been embarrassing under any other circumstance, "Why would you say that?"

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched like he was considering smiling but was too tired to complete the task. His eyes closed heavily as he answered. "S'what Dad wanted."

Tears stung Dean's eyes and he had to wipe them away with the back of his hand. "That's not true, Sam. He didn't want this. And we've already talked about it. Dad was an ass. He didn't know what's gonna happen, and I'm not going to let you die."

Sam didn't respond, and Dean shook his hand lightly.

"Sammy?"

He was out cold. So much for getting him to eat something. Looking at the clock, Dean saw 8:45. Sometime within the next fifteen minutes, then. It was probably for the best that Sam had passed out when he did.

* * *

><p>Dean had been mostly right. Three more attacks before noon, with the latest one happening at twelve o'clock on the money. They were up to seven minutes, and Sam's inability to breathe at the beginning of an episode was getting dangerously close to two and a half minutes. Dean's biggest fear was that one of these times, Sam wasn't going to resume breathing at all. He knew that was what would happen if they didn't find a solution – and soon.<p>

Bobby had exhausted his resources. Most of his contacts either didn't know any witches, or weren't willing to help find one. Working _with_ supernatural forces didn't usually go over so well with hunters. Three people promised to look into it and give Bobby a call back if they found anything; now it was just a waiting game – but Dean couldn't just wait around.

"We have to go find one ourselves." He announced suddenly. It was almost one, and knowing that Sam was going to be okay for a few hours at least, Dean left him upstairs to sleep and came down to go over things with Bobby.

Bobby shook his head. "It's not as simple as that."

"We'll make it that simple." Dean argued. "How hard can it be to find a witch, huh? We just need to look for news reports of strange, sudden success or weird deaths. Or.. or friggin black cats running around." He knew things didn't work like that, but he was desperate. And he was _going _to find himself a witch.

"Dean, even if we did happen to find a witch by just looking in the paper for weird news stories, chances are it wouldn't be able to make us the counter-potion that we need. We need a witch who's _good _at what she does, and a witch like that isn't going to be drawing enough attention to end up in the news."

"Well what the hell do _you _want to do then?" Dean shouted, loosing his patience as time kept moving forward and they still had no solution. "We can't just sit around here and wait. What if nobody calls back?"

Bobby pulled off his hat and scrubbed at his hair, then put the hat back on with a sigh. "You're right. Okay. We can look, but Dean–"

Dean knew what Bobby was going to say. Maybe not word for word, but the general gist of it. _We might not find anything. We might be too late. Don't get your hopes up. _No matter what the actual words would have been, Dean didn't want to hear them. He bolted out of the room before Bobby could finish the sentence, and sat himself down at the computer. Bobby was behind him in a matter of seconds and he stood silently as Dean searched news sites for something. _Anything._

Two hours later, Dean stumbled upon a news report from Marshall, Minnesota. "Look at this." Dean said excitedly as he read the words from the screen. "Jim Taylor and his wife, Carla, along with son, Randy, were found dead in their home late Tuesday evening. Authorities say that all three choked on their meals, however an official autopsy is yet to be released."

Bobby noted Dean's excitement and raised an eyebrow. "Wow, that's great." He said dryly.

"Come _on_." Dean said, ignoring Bobby's disapproving stare. "An entire family chokes to death at the same time during family dinner? That is _so_ not normal."

"It doesn't mean it was a witch, Dean. This is–"

"Bobby." Dean interrupted, and Bobby gave an exasperated huff, but shut his mouth and let Dean talk. "I have to do this. If there's even a chance... I need to try."

"It's a two hour drive." Bobby pointed out, and Dean knew the older man was just grasping at straws. It could be a two _day_ drive and it wouldn't stop Dean from trying.

"At the speed limit." Dean agreed, though he was pretty sure he could easily cut the time in half. Dean looked at the clock. "Look, I need to go _now_. Who knows how much time we have left. Sam should be okay for another hour at least, but the attacks are getting closer together. Don't leave him alone."

Bobby looked like he wanted to protest, but kept his mouth shut and nodded. "'Course."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. If I can't find anything, or if it's not a witch, I'll be back tomorrow afternoon at the latest and we'll need to figure something else out." Dean knew he didn't have the time he needed, and if he couldn't get immediate results, he needed to get back to Sam as soon as possible. "Bobby–" Dean paused. He wanted to hear Bobby reassure him that Sam would be okay while he was gone, but he didn't want to speak the words out loud, _don't let him die. _Instead, he pulled his eyebrows together in a worried frown.

Bobby didn't need to hear the words. He understood, and he nodded. "He'll be here when you get back."

* * *

><p>Dean drove twenty miles over the speed limit most of the way, keeping an eye open for cops. Though, if he did run into a cop, he didn't plan on stopping anyway. He was confident that if need be, his baby could out drive one of those big, ugly Crown Vics any day. Regardless, he made it to Marshall in just over an hour without any delays. He glanced nervously at the time. Any minute now Sam would be having another attack, and for the first time ever, Dean wouldn't be there for it. He had to force himself to not call Bobby. It wouldn't do any good to call in the middle of it. In another hour or so he would call and make sure everything had gone okay. He bit his lower lip as he thought about just how many times this was going to happen before he made it back.<p>

Marshall was a decent size town about three hours from the twin cities. Too big to have the friendly everyone-knows-everyone vibe of a small town, which might make it a little bit more difficult to get good information from locals. Chances are they had all heard about the Taylors, but many of them probably didn't know the family personally. Dean went immediately to a library and looked up the victims' names. Of course the first things that popped up were news reports from their deaths, but Dean had already read about that and he clicked through them, finally coming to their address in the white pages. He printed the address and picked up a road map at a gas station down the street.

The Taylors' home was located in a nice little suburb, close enough to downtown to be convenient, but far enough away that it gave a sense of privacy and nature. Yellow police taped circled the front porch, but there was nobody around to stop Dean from ducking underneath it and going inside. He wore a suit anyway and carried a badge so if anyone asked, he was Jack Ryan - FBI. The deaths had occurred four days ago, and though the circumstances might seem suspicious, the police weren't going to find anything because they didn't know what they were looking for. Dean was sure that the Taylors' deaths would be ruled accidents eventually, if they hadn't been already.

Dean started his search in the kitchen and wrinkled his nose at the aged food sitting half-eaten on the dining room table. So the case was still open then. Nobody had come to clean up the place because everything was still evidence. Dean was glad he had brought rubber gloves and he snapped them on before touching anything. He checked under the table, in the cupboards and under the sink with no luck. Though he wasn't worried about being caught, he still felt the need to hurry. "Come on." He whispered as he checked under the oven, behind the toaster and even in the garbage. Nothing. Could this really be just a bizarre coincidence, all three family members choking at the same time? Dean tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently. There was no way.

Finally, Dean found what he was looking for hidden away behind the refrigerator. "Yahtzee." He said triumphantly as he examined the small, brown, cloth bag, tied together at the top with a string of leather. Hex bag. Definitely a witch. He pocketed the bag and turned to leave. Now all he had to do was find the witch. Well, that and convince her to help him. First, though, locate. And the best way to find out who? Find out why. The neighbors would be a good place to start.

First though, check on Sam. Bobby answered after a couple rings.

"Everything alright?" Dean asked without bothering to say hello.

"Everything's fine." Bobby assured him.

"How is he?"

Bobby sighed heavily. "Last one lasted all of eight minutes. Took him almost three to start breathing."

Dean felt weak and he was glad he was sitting. He was so close to figuring this out. So close to fixing everything, and yet, so far away. He didn't have enough time. He exhaled a shaky breath. "Is he awake?"

"No."

"Make sure you give him vitamins. And extra morphine. And if he wakes up, get him to eat something. And–"

"I know." Bobby interrupted gently. "I've got it under control here. You just worry about finding that witch."

"It _is _a witch." Dean said, suddenly remembering that he had at least made _some_ progress. "I found the hex bag."

"That's good." Bobby replied. "I don't need to tell ya what to do next. You just get that witch and get back. We'll be here."

Though he had said it many times since Bobby had rescued them from the warehouse, he said it again, and meant it just as much. "Thank you, Bobby."

"Be careful, Dean." Bobby replied, and the phone went silent.

Dean put the cell back in his pocket and rolled his shoulders as looked out the car window to the Taylors' house and the surrounding homes. On the right was a small, hand-built playground for children and a dog kennel attached to the side of the garage. Next to it, a navy blue, '74 Mustang with white racing stripes was parked in the driveway. To the left, a half-built fence separated the Taylors' yard from their neighbor. They had probably been in the middle of building it when they died. Dean wondered if the neighbor would finish it now, or maybe the next owners of the house. Such normalcy. Jobs, kids, projects. No sense of danger, no monsters to kill or demons to worry about. When all this was over, maybe him and Sam could have something like this. He had considered it many times, but the hunting life always called him back.

Dean sighed as the yellow police tape caught his eye again. Nobody was safe; not even here. Ignorance might be bliss – until the things from your nightmares turned out to be real and murdered you in your sleep. Or while you were enjoying a nice, home-cooked meal with your family. Dean could run. He could take Sam and hide in Pleasantville, but the monsters would always catch up.

The car door squeaked as Dean shut it behind him and made his way to the neighbor's front steps. Somewhere in this town there were answers, and Dean intended to find them.

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><p><strong>This was one of those chapters where I had a nice, long plan for it, but it turned out to be the length of two chapters instead of one. So if it seems like it's lacking action, that might be why. : I hope you liked it anyway!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you guys for reading and for all your nice comments! Here's another chapter for ya. Enjoy.**

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><p>"Oh, it's so sad the way they all died like that."<p>

Dean was in a kitchen talking with a small, mousy looking woman with brown hair and a pointy nose. She wore thin, wire-frame glasses that sat low on her nose and made her look older than she probably actually was. She was one of the Taylors' neighbors – the one with the Mustang in the driveway and, unfortunately, the playground in the yard. Dean wished that he had put a bit more thought into which neighbor he talked to first. A pair of young, twin boys were currently running around the house with cowboy hats on, screaming at the top of their lungs while Dean and their mother were trying to talk at the table. She didn't tell them to be quiet though, and one of the boys yelled "this town aint big enough for the both of us!" and shot Dean in the back of the head with a nerf gun. Dean waited for the woman to scold the boy, but she just smiled and said "boys will be boys", and the kids continued their rampage.

Dean raised his voice to compensate for the noise. "Mrs. Wells–"

"Oh please, call me Maggie."

Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "Maggie." He said with a polite nod. "Did the Taylors have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who might want to hurt them?"

Maggie leaned back in her chair and brought her index finger to her chin as she considered the question. "No, I don't think so. Certainly nobody who would _kill _them. That poor boy. He was only seventeen years old, you know? And Mr. Taylor–" She stopped short and shook her head. "You don't think they were murdered, do you? How could it possibly be murder?"

"That's what we're trying to find out, ma'am."

"Maggie." She corrected.

"Maggie. Try to think. Anyone at all? Did any one of them have a recent argument or disagreement with someone? Even the smallest thing."

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "Well, there was the fence issue with Catherine Brower." Maggie looked suspicious for a moment, but then her expression smoothed and she smiled. "But I don't think Catherine would have _killed _them. How could she have?"

"It's worth looking into." Dean said with an encouraging nod. "What was the fence issue?"

Maggie leaned forward, as if telling a secret, and Dean had to strain to hear her over the screaming boys. "Well, Jim Taylor was building that fence over there on the other side of his yard, and Catherine didn't like it because of that apple tree. She used to get apples from the tree. The Taylors never did, but the tree was on the Taylors' property, see, so they were building that fence anyway, and Catherine didn't like it one bit. Her and Carla had a heated discussion about it just the other week. It would have been just a couple days before they all died." She got a worried look on her face. "But that's hardly a reason to kill someone. Don't you think, Agent Ryan?"

Dean nodded. "I do. Unfortunately, I've seen people killed for less." When he realized suddenly how quiet the room had gotten, he glanced over and noticed both boys staring at him with wide eyes. He fumbled for something to say to the boys, but ended up just stammering out dumbly, "killing people is bad."

Maggie didn't seem to notice though, and she stared at her hands and scratched the table top nervously. "Still, something's not right about that Catherine Brower."

Dean found it hard to look away from the boys, but he managed to turn back to Maggie. "How do you mean?"

"Well, she keeps to herself a lot. Doesn't let anybody in her house. I brought her a hotdish once, just to be friendly, and she wouldn't let me come inside. Didn't even take the food." Maggie shook her head. "I mean, she's gotta eat. Who turns down food?" She glanced up at Dean, her eyes glimmered excitedly. "You're welcome to stay for dinner, Agent. Everyone's gotta eat."

Dean looked at the boys who were still staring, now with their mouths hanging open like some sort of cartoon. "Thanks, ma'am, but I have work to do."

Maggie sighed. "Oh well." She looked at her children. "You know my husband died in a car accident just four years ago. These poor boys haven't ever known a father figure." She turned to Dean with big, sad eyes and an exaggerated pout. "That old Mustang was his. He was gonna fix it up with them when they were older. I bet you know a thing or two about cars, don't you, Agent Ryan?"

"I'm sorry about your husband." Dean stood quickly, dismissing himself with a nod. "I need to get going now, but thank you for your time, Mrs. Wells."

"Maggie." She insisted, standing with Dean and following him to the door.

"Maggie. Of course." Dean said politely.

"And if I think of anything else, how can I contact you?"

Dean held back a groan. He didn't want to give Maggie his number, but what choice did he have. "Right." He said, pulling out an official looking FBI business card with his fake name and real phone number on it.

"Thank you, Agent Ryan." Maggie said, taking the card from Dean.

Dean nodded and walked out onto the steps. Maggie stood in the doorway waving. Behind her, the boys had resumed their playing and were once again screaming in the house. Dean sat back in the driver's seat of the Impala and swore to himself that he was never going to have kids.

* * *

><p>Dean drove around the block and parked a street down in the opposite direction of Maggie's house so that she wouldn't see him return. He walked to the house that was separated from the Taylors' yard by a half-built fence. Catherine Brower, the strange lady who kept to herself and never let anyone inside her house. This could definitely be his witch.<p>

Dean checked the time before knocking on the door. It was nearing eight o'clock, and probably wasn't the most polite time to be knocking on a stranger's door, but it wasn't like he had the option of waiting until morning. Catherine answered after a minute and peered out at Dean with narrowed eyes. She had long black hair which she wore in a pony tail, and bright blue eyes that contrasted her dark hair dramatically. She was thin and pretty, and Dean smiled at her appreciatively. She didn't return the gesture.

"Mrs. Brower." Dean said, holding up his fake FBI badge. "I'm Agent Jack Ryan, FBI. I'm here to just ask a couple routine questions about your neighbors, the Taylors. Is it alright if I come in?"

Catherine narrowed her eyes even more as she studied Dean's badge. "I already talked to the police." She said.

"Yes, but I just have a few more questions."

"It's eight o'clock at night." She protested.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience. It'll only take a few minutes."

"I don't have any information."

"That's fine. I only have a couple questions." Dean said, and damn she was persistent.

Finally she sighed loudly and held the door open. "Fine. Just a few minutes."

Dean looked around the house expectantly as they made their way to the kitchen, but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. It was a nice, fairly large house which Catherine kept neat. A pan of brownies sat on the kitchen counter and she offered Dean one, which Dean thought was odd given her rudeness and reluctance to let him in. His stomach growled hungrily but he turned down the brownie. If Catherine really was a witch, who knows what kind of spell she could inflict on Dean with just a snack.

"Mrs. Brower." Dean said once they were seated at the table. "Do you know if the Taylors had any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt them?" He repeated the same question he had asked Maggie.

"No." Catherine said a bit too quickly. "Nothing like that."

"If you could just take a moment and think–"

"You think they were murdered?" Catherine's voice became high pitched and incredulous. "How is that even possible? They choked to death. I don't think somebody could have done that to them." She shook her head and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

"We just want to cover every angle." Dean explained.

"Like I said, I don't have any information for you. Now if you don't mind, Agent Ryan, I was just getting ready for bed."

Dean nodded and stood. "Of course." He took a few steps toward the door and turned back to Catherine. "You know, I couldn't help but notice that fence out there isn't finished. I know an excellent contractor who could finish that for you. I could give you his number."

"No." Catherine said sternly. "I don't want that fence built. I'm going to have it taken down."

"You don't like the fence?" Dean asked, feigning confusion.

"No, I don't." Catherine replied, ushering Dean toward the door as she spoke. "I never wanted it up. The Taylors never used that apple tree. I asked them to move the fence just five feet so I could have the tree, but they refused."

Dean stopped and Catherine bumped into his shoulder, surprised by the sudden stop. She huffed impatiently when he didn't continue moving toward the door.

"Is that why you killed them?" Dean asked abruptly. To hell with being patient and _investigating_. He needed to know weather or not Catherine was a witch, and he needed to know now.

"_Excuse me_?" Catherine took a step back and put up her hands defensively, as if she were afraid Dean was going to attack her.

"Three people don't just choke to death at the same time during family dinner, Catherine." Dean said, taking a step forward. "I know what you are."

Catherine looked absolutely terrified, and if Dean were in a state of mind to stop and consider things, he might have decided he was wrong and backed off, but he couldn't afford to be wrong. It _had _to be Catherine.

"Who are you?" She asked as she took another step back, away from Dean.

"My name is Dean, and I know you're a witch."

"You're insane." Catherine took another step back and bumped into the wall. She turned to run but Dean caught her arm and held her in place. He knew he was scaring her, witch or not, but he just didn't have _time _to do it another way.

"Catherine, please."

Catherine struggled to get free from his hold, and Dean released her. She backed up against the wall and grabbed the phone off the table next to her, holding it out like a weapon. "I'll call the police." She said, and held a finger to the phone to prove her point. "Leave."

Dean studied Catherine, then blinked and took a step back. Could he be wrong about her? If she _was _a witch, she was also a pretty good actress. What was he doing? Just scaring an innocent girl to death. He held up his palms like the phone really was dangerous.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, then turned and rushed out of the house.

* * *

><p>Dean waited in the Impala down the street from Catherine Brower's house and watched for police. He was surprised when a whole hour passed and none showed up. He knew he had gone about everything all wrong with Catherine. He should have been more subtle, gotten her to give him a piece of information so that she couldn't deny being a witch. He had come on too strong, and he might have ruined the whole plan as a result. He wasn't even sure if she <em>was <em>the witch. There had been no evidence. Still, he had a feeling about her, and Dean had learned over his years as a hunter that when in doubt, it was usually best to go with his gut. The fact that Catherine hadn't called the police was just raising his suspicion. He couldn't think of a single reason why she wouldn't call the cops, other than that she had something to hide and she didn't want to explain to the police why someone had come into her house and accused her of killing the Taylors.

Dean saw no lights on in Catherine's house, and decided that it wouldn't hurt to take a walk to get a better look. He didn't know what he was expecting to see. He had already been inside the house and there hadn't been anything, but that feeling in his gut was persistent and he couldn't walk away without getting one more look. He crept up to the house without making a sound, a skill learned from so many years of hunting – where one wrong move could cost you your life. He skipped the front window. A neighbor or passer by could easily spot him in the front yard and he didn't need the police involved. Besides, he had already seen that area of the house and there was nothing worth seeing again. Instead, he moved around to the side of the house bordering the Taylors' fence. He found a window there and peeked inside. The room was dark, but he could make out a bed and a dresser. Catherine was nowhere to be found. It was either a guest room, or she was still awake somewhere else in the house.

Dean continued on to the back of the house, where he found another small window and a sliding glass door. He snuck up to the window and found a blue curtain blocked his view. Moving on to the glass door, he was careful to look in from the side before stepping in front of the large pane of glass. Again the room inside was dark. It appeared to be a sitting room, with a reclining chair, a couch, a coffee table, a fireplace and a bookcase. Dean didn't see anybody inside, and he tried opening the door but it was locked. He moved around to the last side of the house. Two more windows. The first, another bedroom. Again empty. The second was for the kitchen, and Dean glanced in briefly, finding nobody inside the dark room.

He took a step back and looked up at the house. It was a one story, so there were no rooms upstairs, though there probably was an attic. Was she up there? She certainly wasn't in any of the rooms on the main floor – unless she was sitting in the living room in the dark, the only window Dean hadn't looked in. Or possibly the bathroom. That was probably the room that belonged to the curtained window. He made up his mind quickly and made his way to the front of the house, keeping his body close to the dark siding of the house for camouflage. He peered in the front window and cursed silently when he found another dark, empty room. Where the hell was she?

Taking a step back, Dean noticed a soft yellow glow, near the ground, out of the corner of his eye. A basement window, and the light was on. The window was narrow, hardly big enough to squeeze through, but certainly big enough to look through. He came to the window and dropped down to his knees, looking in from the side so that only his eyes and forehead were visible to anyone inside who might happen to look up.

Catherine was there. She had taken her hair out of the tie and it was now hanging in front of her face and on her shoulders as she leaned forward over a table. Candles covered every visible surface, and a wide, wooden bowl sat in the center of the table Catherine stood behind. As Dean watched, Catherine threw a pinch of some herb into the bowl and it sparked. Her mouth moved quickly as she spoke words that Dean couldn't hear. He considered briefly that the spell she was casting could be against him, and then he was up and at the front door.

He tried the doorknob, just to make sure, and then went to work picking the lock. He glanced cautiously over his shoulder and smiled when he saw nothing but an empty street. He pushed the door open and backed into the dark house, closing the door softly behind him. Below him, he could hear Catherine's muffled words, and he tiptoed to the top of the staircase leading to the basement.

Catherine was too busy with her spell to notice Dean as he made his way down the stairs and came to stand behind her. He leaned against the far wall and folded his arms across his chest.

"That spell better not be for me." Dean said loudly, and Catherine let out a startled cry and spun around, sending the wooden bowl clattering to the ground.

"What– what are you– how–" Catherine stammered, and Dean put his hands up in an '_I come in peace' _gesture and took a step closer. Catherine stumbled backward and bumped into the table. She put a hand out to steady herself.

"It's okay." Dean said. "I mean, _normally _I would have to teach you a serious lesson about the dangers of witchcraft, but that's not why I'm here."

"Witchcraft?" Catherine said with a nervous laugh. "This isn't... That's not what I was–"

"Save it." Dean interrupted. "I said I'm not here to hurt you. I need a favor."

"A favor?" Catherine repeated, eyes wide. "Who _are _you?"

"I'm Dean. Now listen, my brother is sick. He's going to die if I can't help him. He was given some sort of potion made by a witch. I need you to come take a look at him and make a counter-potion."

"Counter-potion?" Catherine shook her head. "I can't–"

"Catherine, _please._"

"I can't, I–"

"I know you killed the Taylors, and I have ways of proving it to the cops." Dean was hoping he could do this civilly, but it was clear that Catherine had other ideas.

"Dean, I _can't._" Catherine said desperately. "I don't know anything about _potions._" She said the word like she had never even heard it before. "I'm hardly a witch. I can't even cast a simple curse right. I never meant to kill the Taylors." She brought her hand up to her face and a small sob escaped her mouth. "I didn't mean to, I swear."

Dean felt like he had been punched in the stomach. A witch who could make a whole family choke to death on their dinner should at least have a basic knowledge of potions. But if it was an accident? Dean took a staggering step back. He was suddenly aware that it had been hours since he had checked in with Bobby. What if it was already too late? This entire trip had been for nothing.

"But..." Dean shook his head and gripped his hair.

"I'm sorry. I really can't help you." Catherine was still backed against the table, but her expression had changed from scared to concerned.

"What the hell were you trying to do?" Dean demanded, and Catherine looked at him like he was speaking Latin. "To the Taylors. What were you trying to do?"

Catherine looked to her feet and regret flooded her face. "It was just supposed to make Carla gain a bunch of weight. We never got along, but I never meant to hurt her, and definitely not her family."

Dean shook his head incredulously. "And what about now? What exactly are you trying to do here?" He waved a hand at the candles and the bowl spilled on the floor.

Catherine shrugged. "Just trying to get a raise at work."

"Well you better knock it off." Dean scoffed. "Before you end up blowing up the entire company."

Catherine didn't answer, and Dean had a sudden urge to get the hell out of there and call Bobby.

"I'm serious." Dean warned. "Knock off with the witchcraft crap, or I'm going to have to come back here and stop you."

Catherine nodded, and Dean started up the stairs.

"I'm sorry about your brother." Catherine called after him. Dean didn't answer.

* * *

><p>Back in the Impala, Dean stared at Bobby's name on the screen of his cell phone. He wanted nothing more than to call and make sure Sam was okay, but he couldn't bring himself to push call. What if he was too late? What if Sam was dead? Even if Sam was perfectly fine, Dean had nothing. No comfort to offer. No promise that everything would be okay. What if Bobby told Sam all about how Dean had found a witch to save his life? He would have to tell Sam that he messed up. Again. He would have to tell Sam that he couldn't save him. He didn't have enough time left. That realization hit Dean like a ton of bricks and for a moment he thought he was going to be physically sick.<p>

Dean was about to just call Bobby already when his phone rang. It's shrill cry pierced through the silence in the car, and Dean jumped and dropped the phone. It vibrated against his lap, and after Dean took a split second to calm himself, he picked it up and watched as 'Bobby' flash across the caller ID. As Dean pressed the phone to his ear, he couldn't tell if it was his hand shaking or just the vibration of the phone.

"Hello?" He answered with a barely audible whisper.

"Dean."

"She can't help us. It was an accident. She doesn't know what she's doing. She can't make potions." Dean began rattling off every reason why he had screwed up. He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't stop himself. "I can't help him, Bobby. I can't save him." Dean's voice hitched and he had to shut up or risk breaking down over the phone.

"It's okay." Bobby said. "Olivia called back. She knows someone who can help."

Olivia Lowry was a friend of Bobby's, a hunter. Dean didn't know her, he had never met her, but right at that moment he swore he could have kissed her.

"A witch?"

"More like a medicine woman. That's what she likes to be called anyway. She specializes in potions, and she only uses them to help people. She'll be here tomorrow morning at around ten"

"How's Sam doing?" Dean asked, expecting the worst.

Bobby sighed. "No better, that's for sure. He's not too good, Dean. We're lucky Olivia called back when she did."

Dean felt his throat tighten. How bad was _not too good? _"But... he's okay? Right now, I mean. He's... breathing?"

"Yeah, he's breathing." Bobby confirmed. "He hasn't been awake since you've been gone. Just had another attack 'bout a half hour ago. Like I said, Dean, it's a good thing Olivia called when she did."

It wasn't over yet. Olivia's medicine woman still needed to get to Bobby's, take a look at Sam and come up with some sort of concoction that would reverse the effects of the potion. They were cutting it close, but that seemed to be the way things always worked out for the Winchesters. Everything was always resolved at the last possible moment. It wasn't great news, but Sam was okay for now and they had help on the way. Dean threw his head back against the seat and took a moment to just breathe and let the relief wash over him.

"I'm leaving right now." Dean announced. Even as he said it, he was starting the engine and heading back to the highway. "I'll be there in about an hour."

The highway was dark and mostly deserted. Occasionally, Dean passed a lonely car or semi truck. When he came to a sign that read 'Sioux Falls - 60 miles' he pressed the gas pedal further to the floor, and the soft hum of the tires against the asphalt was strangely calming. They just had to make it to morning. If they could make it to morning, everything would be okay – Sam would be okay. _One more night_, Dean silently begged the road outstretched in front of him.

_Just one more night._


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for the wait! I know, I have a lot of excuses. I've been busy! Thanks again for reading! **

* * *

><p>It was eleven when Dean parked the Impala in front of Bobby's, and he was glad to finally be back. His lack of sleep as of late, mixed with so many miles of driving, was starting to take a toll on his body and he wasn't sure he could have made it much further without having to pull over and take a quick nap or risk falling asleep behind the wheel.<p>

The kitchen light was on, but when Dean entered the old house, he found the kitchen, along with the rest of the main floor, empty. He took the stairs two at a time and had to smile when he came to his and Sam's shared bedroom and found Bobby sitting in the chair next to Sam's bed reading a book. Dean decided right then that he would never be able to fully express the amount of gratitude he felt toward the older man who had always been like family to him and Sam both, and was now the closest thing to a father either of them had. Sam, as per usual lately, was asleep. He looked comfortable though and, well, _alive_ so Dean wasn't going to complain.

"Hey, Dean." Bobby's greeting stole Dean's attention away from his brother. Bobby had set the book on the night stand and was standing to stretch.

"Hey."

"Jesus, boy, you look like hell." Bobby said matter-of-factly

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Thanks." He said. But he hadn't really eaten, slept or showered in two days and he supposed it showed.

"I'll make you a sandwich I guess. Don't expect me to start doing your laundry and cleaning up after ya though." Bobby grumbled, but Dean knew he was only complaining on principle.

Dean sat on his bed. "I guess cooking for me will have to do for now." _Also, saving my ass and taking care of my brother, _he thought, but he didn't say anything. This was Bobby's attempt at lightening the situation.

If Bobby ever came back with that sandwich, Dean didn't know, because as soon as he laid back against the mattress of his bed he was out, his legs still hung over the edge and his boots were planted on the floor. His head just reached the wall adjacent to the bed and it had become an impromptu pillow. His neck bent forward at an uncomfortable angle, but Dean couldn't be bothered to undress and get into bed properly.

When he woke up again, the room was dark. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but his neck was sore as hell and he sat up stretching. Sam's mattress squeaked softly and Dean realized that he hadn't just woken up on his own free will. He was up in a heartbeat and at Sam's side. He was momentarily horrified to find that Sam was having an attack and was breathing – that meant he had slept through at least the first few minutes of it – but the shock of that realization quickly turned to relief that Sam was going to be okay. Every attack held the possibility of death, but this time Sam would pull through. Dean took Sam's hand and squeezed it for the next six minutes until it was over.

Rubbing at his eyes, Dean checked the clock and saw that it was just after midnight, but that couldn't be right. It was almost ten when Bobby called him in Marshall, and he had said that Sam had an attack just a half hour before that. Dean added it up quickly in his head. Three hours. They were down to three hours in between attacks, and who knows how long they were lasting now – Dean couldn't be sure how much he had slept through. At least three minutes, probably more.

He felt dazed, being pulled from sleep too soon, but too worked up now to fall back asleep. Instead, he headed downstairs for a cup of coffee and maybe that sandwich Bobby had promised. When this was all over, Dean was going to sleep for a week.

* * *

><p>At five minutes to ten, Dean was pacing the kitchen impatiently while Bobby sipped on a cup of coffee and watched him with a half worried, half annoyed look on his face.<p>

"Where is she, Bobby?" Dean demanded. Olivia's medicine woman should be showing up any minute, but Dean needed it to be now. Sam's last attack had lasted fifteen minutes, three and half of those minutes were spent waiting for Sam to breathe, and believing more and more as each second passed that he wasn't going to. When Sam had finally gasped in that lung full of air, Dean was so relieved that it made him dizzy and he had to sit down. When it was all over, he had gone into the bathroom and thrown up, then stood in the shower and let the hot water mask the tears that fell on his cheek.

He was the proverbial camel, only the straw that broke his back had been thrown on him long ago – maybe in the warehouse, maybe when Dad died – and he was somehow still going. The universe wasn't done with him yet, though, and seemed determine to keep adding straw after straw until the weight of it not only broke his back, but crushed him into the dirt until he was nothing.

"Olivia said around ten." Bobby reminded him. "It's not even quite that yet. Don't worry, she'll be here."

But Dean _was_ worried. Because Sam wasn't going to make it through another attack, Dean was sure of that, and this medicine woman still needed to figure out what type of antidote Sam needed. She wasn't just going to show up with a counter-potion and save the day, it all took time. Time that was quickly ticking away as the woman continued to not be there.

Dean was about to complain again when a soft knock at the door stopped him. He was there before he had even processed the thought, and the door banged against the wall as he threw it open. The woman who greeted him was not at all what Dean had expected. Though, actually, he didn't really know what he had been expecting. Probably something like Dr. Quinn. This woman, though, had bright red hair that was shorter than Sam's and stuck out in every direction. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, and she wore a green dress with leggings. Dean's first thought was of Peter Pan.

"Hi, I'm Tamara." She said in a quiet, but self-assured voice. She held out a hand for Dean and he took it quickly, giving it one quick shake.

"Dean." Dean replied. "Sam is upstairs." He turned to lead her up the stairs and she followed quietly behind him.

Once in the room, Tamara immediately went for the chair by Sam's bed, and Dean watched the clock nervously. They were down to two hours until the next attack. Tamara had better move fast. She brushed the hair off of Sam's forehead and the gesture was so intimate, Dean almost felt like he was intruding by watching from the doorway. He bit at his lower lip as he watched. Tamara didn't do anything but look at Sam. Occasionally she would brush her hand against his cheek or rest her fingers in his hair. They stayed like that, silent – Dean in the doorway, Tamara in the chair, Sam in the bed – for five whole minutes before Dean just couldn't take it anymore.

"Can you help him?" He whispered. He didn't want to mess up... whatever it was she was doing, but he needed to know.

"Oh yes." Tamara said, standing suddenly. She turned and brushed past Dean on her way out of the room. Dean followed her down the stairs. "I'll just need to prepare some things. I shouldn't be long."

"Noon." Dean said, and Tamara stopped in the living room, turning to give Dean her full attention. Dean looked at her with pleading eyes. "He's going to have an attack at noon, and I don't know if he'll be able to... they're getting worse."

Tamara pressed her lips into a thin line as she considered that. "Well then I guess I'd better hurry." She said finally, and went back out the front door without another word.

Dean watched her go, and Bobby came to stand behind him at the window. The whole thing was so strange, and _so _not what he expected, that he didn't really know what to think about it. Did she really know how to save Sam? All she had done was sit next to him.

"She said she can help him." Dean said, looking to Bobby for some sort of confirmation.

Bobby reached out and put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Good." Was all he said, and Dean didn't feel any more assured.

* * *

><p>Dean was having a nervous break down, he was sure of it. It was getting dangerously close to noon, and Tamara hadn't returned. At around eleven thirty, Dean had gone back upstairs to sit by Sam, and remained in the same position for twenty minutes, glancing anxiously between the clock and Sam. Ten minutes. They had ten minutes. Dean took Sam's hand and squeezed. Maybe, at least, Sam would know he was there. Dean's knee bounced impatiently as he waited and hoped that Tamara would miraculously show up and save the day just in time. He wasn't one for praying, but he did then in those last ten minutes.<p>

As it turned out, they only had six minutes. At four minutes to twelve, Sam stopped breathing. "No," Dean whispered. "No, no, no." Maybe Sam could make it through one more. _Just one more, _he begged. _Please just one more. _But somehow Dean knew. He just _knew. _"Bobby!" Dean yelled desperately.

"Damn it." Bobby said under his breath when he came to the door and saw Sam, tense and twitching and not breathing.

"What do we do?" Dean asked, but Bobby didn't answer. He just stood behind Dean and a sense of understanding washed over both of them. They _both _knew.

A minute passed, then another, and another, and Dean was crying now. Sam's shaking was beginning to slow, and Dean wanted to take it as a good sign, that it was ending early, but he knew better. Sam's lips took on a terrible blue tinge and Dean squeezed his hand so tight he thought he might have broken a finger.

At three minutes and thirty seconds, Sam stopped shaking. His body went limp against the mattress, but he didn't take in a breath of air and the blue coloring of his lips didn't fade. Dean hunched over Sam and rested his head on his brother's chest. "Sammy, please." He begged. "You can't do this. Please."

At three minutes and fifty seconds, there was a bang downstairs. Bobby went to investigate, but Dean didn't see the point, and he remained in his position over Sam, crying and praying and offering up anything and everything he owned to anyone who might be listening if they would just give him one more day to save Sam.

Someone must have been listening.

A second later, Tamara burst through the door and before Dean could react, she was shoving a syringe into Sam's neck and pushing a bright green liquid into his bloodstream. Dean sat up and blinked. Too dumbfounded to do anything, too broken to even try.

"What was that?" He blurted.

"That," Tamara answered, "Is what's going to save Sam's life."

Tamara was looking at Sam, staring at him, with such expectancy that Dean felt a spark of hope in his belly. He turned his head slowly to Sam, afraid that even moving too quickly would ruin everything.

"It's too late." Dean whispered after a few seconds passed and nothing happened. "He hasn't been breathing for four minutes."

Tamara looked perplexed for a moment, then bent over and pressed her lips to Sam's. _She's kissing him? _Was the only thing Dean could think through his grief-clouded mind. That, and _what the hell? _He almost felt violated, like he should push her off of his brother, but then something amazing happened. Sam coughed, then gasped, and finally started breathing, and Dean realized what Tamara had been doing. Now that Sam was breathing – Sam was _alive – _he found it quite a bit easier to think.

Tamara took a step back, and Dean watched her with tears in his eyes. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Yeah." Tamara answered, putting her hand on her hips and grinning. "He's going to be just fine."

Tamara didn't stick around to see Sam wake up, but she assured Dean that he would, and Dean thanked her over and over again until she left. As soon as her car was out of sight, Dean went back upstairs while Bobby made grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Three hours passed, and Sam was still out, but he was still breathing, and if another attack was going to happen it should have happened by now. That knowledge felt light inside Dean's chest, and he was suddenly aware of just how tired he was. Once again, he fell asleep in the chair next to Sam's bed.

* * *

><p>Someone was saying his name, but he was so tired. And sore. His neck was killing him. He heard his name again and Dean groaned and rolled his head back. The movement sent a dull pain through Dean's neck and shoulders and he instinctively brought a hand up to rub at the sore muscles. Blinking his eyes open, it took him a moment to remember where he was. Bobby's house, upstairs bedroom, and Sam–<p>

_Sam._

Dean snapped his head toward Sam, and the quick movement intensified the pain in his neck. He winced, but then saw Sam sitting up in bed and looking at him with an almost annoyed expression on his face, and Dean forgot all about his sore muscles.

"Sammy?" He asked cautiously, because there was at least a small chance that he was dreaming.

"Hey, Dean." Sam replied, then wrinkled his nose and said, "How long have you been sitting there?"

Dean thought about it, but didn't know exactly. Did Sam even know what had happened to him over the last few days? How much did he remember? After a minute, Dean just shrugged. "A while."

"Stalker." Sam teased, and Dean couldn't help the wide grin that appeared on his face. God, how long had it been since they had been able to joke around? How long had it been since they had even talked? Just a few days, Dean decided, but it felt like years. Sam grinned back and Dean stood, running a hand through his hair.

"How're you feeling?"

"Great." Sam answered, and Dean actually believed him.

* * *

><p>Dean reheated the tomato soup from earlier, and Sam had apple sauce. Dean was happy to see Sam scarf it down like it was going out of style, and then ask for more. At least he had his appetite back. In fact, everything about Sam seemed completely fine, other than the obvious sore ribs, stomach burns and poor (but quickly improving) vision. It was like they were suddenly back exactly where they had been before Sam had been kidnapped from the hospital. It was almost too good to be true, but Dean wasn't going there. Not now. Until he had a valid reason to suspect something was wrong, he was going to relish in the fact that everything was okay.<p>

"I like apple sauce." Sam said thoughtfully. He nodded appreciatively at the spoon in his hands. "Yeah. Better than yogurt."

Dean grinned. "Not quite as good as tomato soup, though." He teased, and Sam shot him a threatening glare that quickly broke into a wide smile.

Dean couldn't help but laugh. It felt good to laugh again.

Marcus was still out there somewhere, and Dean knew they would run into him again, but he would deal with that when the time came. There wasn't a force in heaven, hell or anywhere in between that could stop Dean from killing Marcus the second he saw him, and that thought made him smile even wider. Marcus didn't know what he had gotten himself into, and his time would come. But for now, the only thing Dean was concerned with was finishing his dinner, taking a long hot shower, and going to sleep.

Dean was going to sleep for a week.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, Dean is sure feeling optimistic. But like he's said before, it's not going to be over as long as Marcus is still out there, and I'm not sure killing him is going to go as smoothly as Dean thinks. <strong>

**Thanks for reading! **


	13. Chapter 13

Things were good for all of two weeks. Dean's optimistic mood, however, didn't quite make it that long. He was ecstatic that Sam was okay, of course, but something that Marcus had said kept echoing in his mind, a grim reminder that this wasn't quite over – not yet.

_I expect the next few days won't be too much fun, _Marcus had said over the phone when he called to fill Dean in on what was happening to Sam. _And Dean, I'll see you when it's all over. _

Dean knew better than to just shrug off the warning. Marcus was nothing if not determined, but Dean wasn't sure if Marcus knew where Bobby lived, or even if he had any idea that they were staying there. Maybe, Dean thought, he had expected Dean to find _him_ once Sam was dead. If that would have been the case, if Sam would have died from that potion, Marcus would have been right – and also dead. Dean probably wouldn't have been far behind.

Marcus was still going to die, of course, but if Dean could have a week or two to recuperate, make sure Sam was okay, and put together a plan, then he was going to take advantage of that. Still, he couldn't quite shake the thought that if anything could go wrong, it would. That was just their luck, after all.

Despite Dean's worries, Sam was doing terrific. Sure, he had his bad moments – Sam had always been a moody little girl, Dean thought – but for the most part, Sam spent those two good weeks acting like nothing had happened. And if Dean didn't know his brother, and hadn't been there for all of it, Sam probably could have convinced him that nothing had.

Sam was moving around much better than when he left the hospital. He was still a bit slow standing up, sitting down, or going up and down stairs, but once he was up and moving you could hardly tell that he had any limitations. Of course, he wasn't going to be running any marathons any time soon, or hunting for that matter.

He had taken up eating cold deli meat on soft bread. Dean had been cautious at first, only letting Sam take a couple bites, then making him sit for a few hours to see how he felt. Sam had passed the test, and to prove his capability, had eaten two whole sandwiches before falling asleep on the couch.

Sam's vision was doing great, too. He said that things weren't as bright as he thought they should be, but he could see fine and was even able to read small print as long as there was sufficient lighting. It's like looking through sunglasses all the time, Sam told him.

Sam usually fell asleep before Dean, and sometimes when Sam was asleep, Dean would go downstairs and enlist Bobby's help in putting together a game plan to deal with Marcus. They almost had it figured out, too. If they would have had a little bit more time, maybe just a couple more days. But then, again, everything went wrong

* * *

><p>It was late evening when Marcus showed up at Bobby's, and Dean, despite all his precautions, was caught off guard. Bobby was in his bedroom. Dean didn't know if he was sleeping, or maybe doing research for some hunt, but he hadn't heard a noise from the man in a little over an hour. Sam was already asleep on the couch in the living room, and Dean was awake next to him, planning on finishing the movie they had been watching and then waking up Sam and getting them both into bed. Movies had become a favorite pastime in the evenings, now that they were taking a break from hunting and Sam was usually too worn out by that time of the day to do much else. Sometimes, when Sam was feeling up to it, they would go for a drive. Nowhere in particular, just a chance to get out and behind the wheel of the Impala. They would play the music soft and sometimes talk, sometimes just watch the sun set and the road curve in front of them. Those were Dean's favorite nights.<p>

On this night, though, they stayed in. The movie – and Dean can't even remember the name of it now – was a western; it had been Dean's turn to pick. The film was nearing the end and the main character, who was actually a bank robber, had just finished robbing a bank but was caught by the sheriff and his posse. He and his men were in the middle of a standoff with the law, when something else caught Dean's attention. A creak, just a small noise, somewhere near the front of the house, but he muted the TV anyway and strained his ears to hear.

The noise came again. It was muffled and barely audible, but Dean's tuned senses picked it up easily. His eyes darted around the room, looking for the closest weapon. He found it. A sawed off shotgun lay on a desk littered with books and newspapers. It was just across the room. Dean could be there in a matter of seconds. He rose quietly and took the first step toward the gun, then Marcus stepped around the corner and Dean froze.

They made eye contact for a second, then Marcus' gaze drifted to Sam sleeping on the couch and his expression turned to one of confusion. He looked genuinely surprised to see Sam alive, and Dean had a brief moment of satisfaction before Marcus raised the gun he held in his hand and pointed it at Sam, and Dean's stomach dropped.

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he leapt toward his brother to shield him from Marcus' shot. The gun fired and Dean felt a searing pain in his shoulder, burning hot. He dropped to the floor and clutched at his shoulder. His t-shirt was sticky and wet to the touch, and he brought his hand away for a moment to examine it. He found his fingers covered in blood, and only then did Dean realize that he had been shot. The pain, along with the realization of what was happening, left him feeling dazed.

"Dean!" Sam's worried cry snapped Dean back to the situation at hand, and he looked up to see Marcus, smirking and re-aiming the gun in Sam's direction.

Dean started to stand, but he would never get to Sam or the sawed off in time. "Sa–" Dean started to shout, but a shot echoed through the house and the word caught in Dean's throat. He stared wide eyed at Sam, but to Dean's immense relief, Marcus dropped instead. Before Dean really had time to understand what had happened, Bobby was kneeling next to him.

"Dean!" He was shouting. "Dean, are you okay?"

Behind Bobby, Dean could hear Sam voicing the same concern for his well being.

"It's just a shoulder hit." Dean gritted through clenched teeth, because critical or not, it still hurt like a bitch.

Something flashed out of the corner of his eye. Metal reflecting the soft artificial light of the living room. The barrel of a gun raising, pointing at Sam.

"Sam!" Dean cried a warning, but Sam was slow. He wouldn't be quick enough to get out of the bullets path.

Things moved in slow motion. Sam winced as he stood and tried to move faster than his body would allow. Bobby turned away from Dean to take in the situation unfolding behind him. Dean reached for Bobby's gun, which had been discarded onto the floor at Bobby's side as he attended to Dean. Dean aimed, he fired, and two gunshots rang out simultaneously. Sam wavered for a moment that must have been less than a couple seconds, but felt like days. Sam fell.

In a heartbeat, Dean was up. Things were back to moving at normal speed, if not a little bit too fast. He tore his eyes off Sam for a second to focus on Marcus, his training telling him to eliminate the threat. The sick son of a bitch who had hurt Sam so many times needed to die.

Marcus was panting and clutching at his stomach where Bobby had hit him. Another pool of blood was forming from where Dean's shot had hit his shoulder. Still, he managed to grin up at Dean. His mouth opened as though he wanted to say something, but any words he might have had were cut off by a sudden, violent coughing attack.

Dean wanted to drag this out. He wanted to spend days killing Marcus and make him suffer. He wanted him to feel every ounce of pain that Sam had felt at his hand, and he wanted him to beg for his life before Dean finally put an end to it all. But he didn't have that time. He raised the gun and fired.

A small hole appeared in the center of Marcus' forehead, and his body went limp against the floor. Dean's lip curled in disgust. Marcus had gotten off too easy. He fired again. Marcus' body jerked with the impact of the bullet, and Dean cocked the gun and fired a third time.

"Dean." Bobby's voice was soft behind him, and Dean turned to face the man.

The sight before him brought everything crashing violently back into focus. Bobby was kneeling next to Sam, a panicked look on his face. Sam, who was in the middle of standing when Marcus shot him, was now thrown over the couch. Half his body on, and half off. Sam's face was twisted with pain and he clutched at his left side. Dean rushed to his brother and fell to his knees beside him. He pulled Sam's hands away from the wound and exhaled sharply at the amount of blood. Sam was going to bleed out, and fast.

Bobby disappeared into the kitchen and returned a second later with a towel. Dean pressed it to Sam's side and Sam groaned, then coughed. Dean's heart sped up at the sight of the small specks of blood that came from Sam's mouth and painted his lips crimson red.

"Shh, Sammy." Dean coaxed, then turned to Bobby. "I can't fix this. We need to get him to a hospital."

Bobby nodded fervently and positioned himself to lift Sam's torso. Dean grabbed Sam around the knees and ignored the shooting pain in his shoulder as he lifted his brother and carried him outside. The Impala was the closest vehicle, so they loaded Sam in the back and Dean climbed in after him. The scene vividly reminded him of the warehouse. Putting Sam in the back seat of Bobby's car, doing CPR all the way to the hospital, Sam not breathing. Panic rose in Dean's chest as he pressed the blood-soaked towel to Sam's side.

"Go, Bobby!" Dean demanded. There was blood everywhere – so much blood.

Sam's eyes opened and locked on Dean. His breath came in short, quick gasps as he raised one shaky hand to Dean's cheek and ran his fingers through the blood smeared there. Dean closed his eyes to fight the onset of tears that were threatening to fall.

"You're okay, Sammy. You're okay." Dean said desperately against Sam's hand. "You're fine. It's okay."

"Dean." Sam choked on the word and coughed.

"Don't talk, Sam." Dean bit his lip as a tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek. After everything they had been through, Marcus was finally dead, and Sam was going to die from this? It couldn't happen. Dean wasn't going to let it happen.

"Dean." Sam tried again. "M'sorry."

Dean blinked and shook his head, confused. "Sorry for what?"

Sam laughed once, then coughed. "Bleeding on the seat."

Sam was trying to be funny, but the attempt at humor did nothing except upset Dean more. He didn't respond other than to press the towel harder against Sam's side. Sam hissed and shut his eyes against the pain. The towel was soaked through and useless against the staggering amount of blood that Sam was rapidly losing.

"Sam, open your eyes." Dean ordered. "Come on, eyes on me."

Sam clenched his jaw and forced his eyes open, but the way they moved in and out of focus did nothing to reassure Dean.

"How far, Bobby?" Dean demanded. They were in the largest city in South Dakota. Sure, Bobby's place was a little ways out, but still, how long could it take to get to a hospital? Dean didn't know for sure how long they had already been driving, just a couple minutes probably, but it was already far too long.

"We're almost there." Bobby answered. "Just another minute or two."

"You hear that, Sammy? We're just about there. Just keep your eyes open. You're okay."

Sam's eyes locked on Dean as he panted and tried to do as Dean asked. The raw emotion that Dean saw in Sam's eyes made Dean's stomach clench into a tight knot. The pain and fear was painted so clearly on his brother's face, Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from mirroring Sam's look of fear. _Be strong for Sam, _he reminded himself, and kept the fearless mask in place. There was blood in the corner of Sam's mouth now, running slowly to his chin, and Dean wanted to reach up and wipe it away. He wanted to brush back his brother's bangs or squeeze his hand reassuringly, but Dean's hands were occupied at the moment, desperately trying to keep Sam from bleeding out.

Sam's eyelids began to droop and his breathing became even more labored. Dean's commands to stay awake were beginning to go unnoticed by Sam as he slipped further out of Dean's grasp. Just as Dean was sure Sam was going to lose consciousness, the Impala screeched to a halt underneath the glowing red lights of a hospital emergency sign. Dean was once again reminded of the last time, nearly two months ago now, after the warehouse. At least this time, Sam was still breathing.

Like last time, the back door of the car was thrown open and strong hands were grabbing at Sam, pulling him away. Dean followed and kept his hands pressed firmly to his brother's side until they had Sam on a gurney and Dean's hands were replaced by others. Then Sam was being wheeled away, and when Dean followed in through the doors, he found himself being ushered in the opposite direction of Sam. He tried to break free, but was suddenly aware of the pain in his shoulder. That, along with the panic he felt over being separated from Sam, and maybe a little bit of blood loss, too, made him dizzy and he reluctantly let the hands guide him and prevent him from collapsing onto the floor.

* * *

><p>Dean found himself laying on a bed with several people rushing around him. He tried to protest as an IV needle was pushed into his arm, because it was just a shoulder hit for god's sake, he could patch it up himself if they would just calm down and give him a minute, but then something was injected into the IV tube and Dean had to focus just to stay awake. What these people <em>should<em> be doing is helping Sam, and Dean tried to tell them that, but the doctors didn't pay much attention as they continued to poke at him and connect him to more tubes and machines. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean knew he had to tell them about Sam. Had to tell them what medications he was on so they wouldn't give him anything that would react badly, had to tell them about the broken ribs that were still sore so they would be gentle and not hurt him, but Dean couldn't form the words.

A man with a surgical mask bent over the table and shined a flashlight in Dean's eyes. Dean saw the bright light and he squinted against it, then his eyelids got too heavy to hold open any longer, and Dean didn't see anything at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you guys for reading this story! I love you!<strong>

**When I first started writing about Dean getting treatment for his gunshot wound, I wrote him just sitting in a hospital room and just as the doctor was about to come in and get out the bullet I thought **_**wait a minute, they probably use anesthesia and actual surgeons and stuff, huh? **_**I don't know. Maybe for a shoulder wound they wouldn't, but like I've said before, I know nothing about medical treatment, so... **

**Also, to the person who wanted blind Sam, I'm sorry. I had some ideas for that, but the story got away from me. Someday I will write a blind!Sam fic just for you, I promise. **


	14. Chapter 14

When Dean came to, he was surprised to find that he didn't recognize his surroundings. As his brain tried to work out where exactly he was and why, he studied the small room. It was immediately obvious that he was in a hospital, and that realization set off a chain reaction in his mind and everything came flooding back. His first instinct, once he remembered what had happened, was to find Sam, and he jolted upright in the bed. The movement sent sharp bolts of electric pain through his shoulder and he gasped and brought a hand up to press at the source of the pain.

"Damn it, Dean, relax before the doctors have to get back in here and sedate you" Bobby's voice came from the doorway, and Dean snapped his head toward the sound. A sick, sinking feeling washed over him. Bobby should be with Sam. Why wasn't Bobby with Sam? Dean felt dizzy with the question and had no choice but to lay back against his pillow.

Dean intended to ask Bobby where Sam was, if he was okay, why Bobby wasn't with him, but fear tightened his throat until he could hardly breathe, let alone talk. Eventually, he did manage to croak out one word. "Sam?"

"He's still in surgery." Bobby answered immediately, rubbing his eyes as he took a seat in the chair next to Dean's bed. "Doctors don't have any information yet."

The knowledge that Sam was at least _alive _eased a little bit of the tightness in his chest so he was able to talk, but hearing that Sam was still in surgery did nothing to reassure him of his brother's condition. "How long have I been out?" Dean asked, because, for one, he was annoyed as hell that the doctors even knocked him out in the first place, but more importantly, the answer to that question was directly related to how long Sam had been in surgery.

"'Bout two hours." Bobby answered, watching Dean with a hint of caution that suggested Bobby knew just how well Dean was going to take that news.

"Two hours?" Dean demanded, sitting up once again and ignoring the dizzying effect the movement caused. He pulled off the pads stuck to his chest, and the heart rate monitor next to him went flat and cried out a long, sickening tone. He started tugging at the IV tube going into his arm, but Bobby was suddenly at his side. He grasped Dean's wrist and pulled his hand away.

"Dean, you need to calm down." Bobby's voice was soft, but carried a threatening undertone of authority. It wasn't a request, it was an order.

Dean challenged Bobby with a hard stare, and Bobby started back, his grip tight and unyielding on Dean's wrist. Neither man was willing to back down, and just when Dean thought they might stay like this forever, a nurse burst into the room, shocking them both out of the stare-off.

The nurse, a middle aged woman with black curly hair and far too much makeup, looked bewildered as her eyes darted from Dean to Bobby, back to Dean, and then to the heart rate monitor which, Dean was suddenly aware, was still screeching out it's deafening cry. The nurse went to the machine and unplugged it before confronting Dean.

"What happened?" She asked, and Dean was struck with the childish thought that this woman would never be as good of a nurse as Julia.

"I need to see my brother." Dean demanded, ignoring her question. He knew it was an idle request. Sam was in surgery, and there was no way in hell he was getting into the sterilized surgery room.

Not even a hint of understanding flashed across the nurse's face as she stared dumbly back at Dean. "Your brother?"

Dean was suddenly even more angry, and found himself more than a little annoyed when Bobby cut in and addressed the woman. "He's fine. Could you just give us a minute?"

The woman looked unsure, but huffed and replied, "I'll send in a doctor," before shuffling back out into the hall.

Bobby kept his eyes on Dean until the doctor showed up almost ten minutes later, as if he were expecting Dean to lose it at any minute and try pulling out the IV again. If Dean was being honest with himself though, that scenario wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibilities. Dean stared back, trying and failing to intimidate the older hunter, and the ten minutes passed slowly and without either saying a word.

Finally, the doctor showed up carrying a clipboard and an infuriating look of nonchalance. "Dean Smith?" The man said without looking up from the papers in his hand.

It was a name they reserved for when they wanted to remain truly anonymous. Bobby had probably chosen it, though, because he wasn't sure what names Sam and Dean had identification for, but knew that Smith would be one of them. It was just as well, because Dean was going to get him and Sam out of here the second Sam was stable enough to move.

"Yeah." Dean replied, letting his annoyance show clearly in the tone of his voice.

The doctor did look up at that, but didn't show any more interest than a moment ago when he had entered the room. He gave off the impression that his shift was almost over and he wanted nothing more than to go home and relax with a beer. Or maybe he wasn't supposed to be in at all today, but was called in after multiple shooting victims had shown up in the emergency room. Either way, Dean didn't like him.

"I'm Dr. Rosin. How are you feeling, Dean?" The doctor leaned forward now, watching Dean's eyes carefully as he waited for an answer.

"Peachy." Dean answered, meeting the man's gaze. "Now if you don't mind, Doc, I'd like to get the hell out of this bed so I can see how my brother's doing."

"Ah, yes." Rosin leaned back again and flipped up the first page in his clipboard, scanning the paper underneath. "Sam Smith. Admitted with a gunshot wound to the left lumbar region. It looks like he's still in surgery."

"I know that." Dean scowled, and Bobby shot him a warning glance.

"Well, Mr. Smith." Rosin continued. Either he hadn't heard the hostility in Dean's voice, or he chose to ignore it. "I would suggest taking it easy for a while, but your injuries are not life threatening and I can get the discharge paperwork whenever you're ready."

"Now." Dean said without hesitation, and the first sign of any emotion flickered across the doctors face. Not disapproval or concern for his patient, just a mild curiosity.

"If you insist." Rosin stood and shuffled through the papers once more. "Keep the bandage area dry and leave it on for a couple days. The wound is stitched, but the bandage will help prevent infection. I'll write you a prescription for some antibiotics. Just hang tight while I get the paperwork together."

Dean had to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling the doctor where he could stick his paperwork and antibiotics.

After everything was sorted out on Dean's end, he and Bobby really couldn't do anything except sit in the waiting room, and Dean thought maybe he should have kept his room for a while longer just so they could have had some privacy. The beige, plastic benches of the waiting room were filled with people – one of the perks of a big city hospital – and Dean had to, on a couple occasions, shoo away a stray child who had wandered into his personal space.

Despite the crowd, or maybe because of it, Dean couldn't sit still. He jumped up frequently just to walk down the hall and back, sit back down by Bobby, then repeat the process. Bobby had already talked to the police, explaining that they had all three been home when a robber broke in. Sam and Dean interfered and were both shot before Bobby was able to scare away the robber with a gun of his own and the man ran off into the night. Bobby gave the police Marcus' description, but left out the part about Marcus targeting the boys personally and the fact that he was now laying dead on Bobby's living room floor. The police bought Bobby's story easily – they were the victims after all – and assured him that they would catch the guy. Dean found himself asking Bobby again and again if he had informed the doctors about Sam's pre-existing conditions, even though Bobby swore he had.

"Did you tell them about the poisoning?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Did you tell them about his medicine?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did you tell them about his ribs?"

"For the hundredth time, yes. I told them everything."

Bobby was getting impatient, Dean could tell, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much about Bobby's mood. He just had to be absolutely sure that the doctors knew they had to be careful with Sam. When a doctor finally came into the waiting room a little over an hour later asking for the family of Sam Smith, Dean felt jumpy and off-guard, and he was pretty sure Bobby was ready to punch someone in the face.

"I'm Dean Smith. I'm Sam's brother." Dean informed the man. At least _this_ doctor looked like he maybe cared a little bit about what he was going to say to Dean, though his somber expression didn't exactly help ease Dean's nerves.

"Mr. Smith, I'm Dr. Patrick Naylor."

Dean nodded quickly, urging the doctor to just get on with it already.

"Your brother, Sam, suffered a penetrating injury to his small intestine, caused by the bullet." Naylor explained. "We managed to repair the intestine and stop the bleeding. Sam is in stable condition and is currently resting."

Dean let out the breath he had been holding. "He's okay." He simplified.

"He will make a full recovery, yes." Naylor confirmed. "However, for the next couple of days we need to seriously limit Sam's movement. He's not allowed out of bed. He won't be able to eat anything during those days, and he has a nasogastric tube inserted to keep his stomach empty. Nutrients and pain medication will be given through an IV. After a number of days, Sam will be able to drink clear liquids and over time will be able to resume eating regular foods. This whole process might take anywhere from two days to a week. Even after he is discharged, however, Sam needs to limit his physical activity for a few more days to give his body time to heal."

Dean knew Sam would be bummed about the food thing. He was just getting back to almost-regular food after his previous hospitalization, and the set back would undoubtedly be an annoyance. Something they _could_ get through, though. The limited physical activity, too. Not exactly a step backward, but a hindrance nonetheless. Still, Marcus was dead and Sam was alive. Sam was going to be okay. Now they could take all the time they needed for Sam to recover, and they didn't have to worry any more about Marcus' insane vendetta.

Dean thanked Naylor, and the doctor gave Dean and Bobby the okay to see Sam. Just one at a time, though, and only for a little while. Sam needed his rest. Dean went in first. Sam was awake, but looked tired, pale and, Dean suddenly realized, incredibly skinny. He obviously had been losing weight over the past two months, but this was the first time Dean had really taken in just how thin his brother had become. When this was all over, they were going to have to start a training regimen to get Sam back into shape for hunting. That is, if Sam still wants to hunt. At some point between waking up in that warehouse and now, Dean decided that he wasn't going to hold Sam back from doing his own thing anymore. He wasn't going to push Sam one way or the other. Whatever Sam wanted, he could have. It was his life, after all, and he deserved better than monsters, fast food, and dirty hotel rooms with only his brother for company; even if Dean _did _hope that Sam would choose hunting in the end. Sam had potential, Dean only had Sam.

"Hey, Sammy" Dean said with a sad smile, and despite how sick Sam looked, how close to death he had come, Sam smiled back.

"Hey, Dean." He replied.

"Doc says you gotta go back to the whole no-food business for a while." Dean said with a sympathetic frown.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, s'okay."

They were silent for a long stretch, then Dean finally spoke. "I'm glad you're okay, Sam, and you know that I... I..."

"Yeah, I know." Sam interrupted, saving his brother from having to say the words out loud. "Me too."

It was the closest they were probably ever going to come to expressing how much they cared for each other. They were, after all, macho hunter-men, and girly feelings weren't part of the job description. Dean nodded and shared a look with Sam, and like always, they both knew exactly what was hidden in the unsaid words. _You're my brother, and I love you. _

* * *

><p>Dean spent a bit more time in Sam's room than he had been allowed, and eventually a nurse had to come in and get him. Afterward, Bobby only popped in for a second to say hi, and then he left, too, so Sam could get some rest.<p>

Bobby went back to his place to deal with Marcus' body and get some sleep. Dean considered going with him, but decided against it in the end. He knew Sam was safe now, but there was still some part of him, the big brother part, that wasn't willing to leave Sam all alone in the hospital. He slept on one of the cold, hard benches of the waiting room with his jacket as a pillow. At some point during the early morning hours, someone covered him with a blanket.

Sam ended up spending only three days in the hospital, which was better than Dean or the doctors had expected. He was healing well enough, though, that they sent him home with orders to stay in bed for at least a couple more days. Dean insisted on a week, just to be safe.

They spent another five weeks at Bobby's after that. Sam was back to eating completely normal food now, though he preferred to stay away from anything spicy; said it gave him heart burn. Dean called him a girl.

They spent most their time getting both of them back into hunting shape. Once they started training, Dean realized how out of shape he had also become while Sam had been hurt. Sam never mentioned anything about going back to school or any other lifestyle that didn't involve hunting, and as much as it pained Dean to even bring it up, he had to let Sam know he had options. Both of them being as stubborn as they are, that conversation had ended with some swearing, a bit of name calling, and a whole lot of yelling, but in the end it was clear that Sam had no intention of quitting hunting. Though Dean would never admit it out loud, he was immensely relieved. He still had Sam.

Eventually, Bobby came across a hunt in Nebraska and mentioned it to them. It was a simple hunt. Just a haunting at an elementary school. A few students had been hurt, but nothing more serious than a couple bruises and a broken arm. It was a perfect job for both of them to get back in it, so they loaded up the Impala. Bobby made them all steak and potatoes that night, and they sat around the kitchen table joking and reminiscing. Sam and Dean spent one more night and took off to Nebraska first thing in the morning. Bobby stood in the doorway and saw them off.

"Keep in touch." He said, pulling Sam into a hug.

"We will." Sam promised.

"You call me if you need anything." The older man insisted, moving on to hug Dean.

"Sure thing, Bobby." Dean replied.

They waved once more to Bobby as they climbed into the Impala.

"Stay out of trouble, ya idjits!" Bobby called, and then they were gone.

As they left Sioux Falls, Dean rolled down the window and turned up the music. As the warm wind blew across his skin and the sounds of AC/DC's _Back In Black _filled the car, he couldn't help but think of himself as lucky.

Maybe he had been looking at things the wrong way this whole time. Their luck had always seemed bad to him, but with all the things they had faced in their days as hunters – all the evil, demonic, supernatural things whose only interest ever seemed to be to kill them – they were pretty damn lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to be in one piece, lucky to have each other. Sure, they ran into a lot of trouble and dealt with a lot of terrible things, but at the end of the day they always ended up alive, together, and headed off to stop more evil; to save more people.

And if either Sam or Dean were left with any scars from this whole ordeal, physical or emotional alike, then it was just another tribute to one more battle fought and won.

**END**

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you guys so, <em>so<em> much. I had so much fun writing this and it's all because of you. There is definitely a _very_ strong possibility that this story will have a sequel some day. After all, Marcus had to have other relatives, right? Someone else to carry out his vendetta? For now though, I have other ideas that I want to work on. I sincerely hope everyone enjoyed this story, and I love you all for reading it. Thank you, thank you, _thank you_. See you soon.  
><strong>


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